Two of a Kind
by Nicole Harpe
Summary: Sam leaps into the father of a valedictorian who wants to enlist in the Army to serve in Vietnam. The memories are too much for Al to handle. Winner of the Quantum Leap 2005 Fandom Award for Best Dramatic Story.
1. Part I

Two of a Kind

All characters belong to Belasarius Productions and Universal Studios.

The desert cooled off dramatically in the evening. It might be 100 degrees when the sun was at its full height, but as soon as it slipped below the mountains, the air took on a pleasant crisp feeling and sleep was easy. That was a good thing too, since a solid night's sleep at Project Quantum Leap was a premium Rear Admiral Alberto Michelangelo Calavicci hadn't had for some time. He lay next to his beautiful wife Beth, holding her gently and knowing he was always safe when they lay together.

This night brought the Admiral sweet dreams filled with images of dark skies studded with stars and the image of a distant, blue planet out a small, round window. He was back in the space program, awaiting reentry into the earth's atmosphere. Only a few people knew how profound his experiences as an astronaut had been for him. Not one to chat about the inner workings of his soul, Al was hard pressed to explain why seeing the earth from space seemed to negate the tragedy of the years just prior to his flight; the years he was beaten, tortured, and starved in a Vietnamese prison camp.

The spacecraft cocooned him in safety as it floated down from outer atmosphere. It was only a matter of minutes before he'd feel the rush of plunging into the ocean still encased in his magical spacecraft. Opening up the hatch and climbing up into the waiting rescue ship was an anticlimax for the Admiral. It ended his free fall from the stars. If he had his way, he'd fly into the stars and never return, but that wasn't possible.

Time travel wasn't possible either, so they said. Too bad the computer-generated voice waking him from his delightful dreams didn't know that. "Good morning, Admiral Calavicci, Dr. Beckett has leaped and you're needed in the Control Room as soon as possible." The voice belonged to the hybrid computer created by Dr. Sam Beckett.

With a groan, he stretched out his legs and arms before sitting up and asking, "What the hell time is it?"

Beth hadn't heard Ziggy, but Al's voice always woke her. She looked at the clock, "4:15, baby. Ziggy call?" She yawned.

"Yeah." Suddenly he sat bolt upright. The pit of his stomach tied itself into a knot that was foreboding. Something was wrong here, but there was no reason to warrant the strong response. "Damn it. Something's weird with this leap."

Beth knew her husband's instincts were usually dead on. She sat behind him and took his shoulders in her hands. Softly she massaged the tense muscles. "It's not good for you to start a leap like this. You'll be a mass of knots in no time."

Her hands felt good on his back, but there was work to do. "Babe, I got to go." He stood up and started toward the shower. Beth sighed, checked the clock again and crawled back under the covers.

The project corridors looked like a set from a Star Trek movie. While he liked clean lines, the bareness of it all was hospital-like and cold. The blood running through his veins felt cold as well. He had been accused of seeing the dark side of things far too quickly and he fought against being the harbinger of doom. After all, he hadn't even met the visitor yet.

Verbena Beeks, PQL Psychologist was waiting for him just outside the Waiting Room. He didn't bother with greetings. "Man or woman?"

"Man."

Sam usually leaped into men and Al had an easier time of it when he did. It was disconcerting to see his best friend dressed like a woman and knowing that everyone in that reality saw a woman. Sam dressed in guy clothes, walking and talking like a guy just made life easier for him, Needless to say after years of observing the errant quantum physicist any bit of ease was appreciated. A deep breath later, Al opened the door to the Waiting Room and made his way toward the visitor.

Admiral Calavicci approached the prone male form quietly and with an easy step. This was always an awkward time. The person Sam Beckett leaped into was now a guest in the sterile blue and white Waiting Room inside the Project Quantum Leap Complex. It was an uncomfortable time for all involved.

With an instinct developed by years of observing Sam's leaps, Al sensed an intense seriousness in this mission. Something about this leap disturbed him and it wasn't being awakened at 4:15 in the morning. He was uneasy for a reason he couldn't make out. Looking down at the visitor's body, he saw nothing that explained his "creepy-crawly feeling." The man's eyes fluttered open and looked up at him. Al forced a smile and quietly said, "Hi there. How are you feeling?"

The masculine voice answered, "Okay, I think." Al could put money on the next words the visitor would utter. They were always the same. "Where am I?"

The stock answer was spoken by rote. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that. My name is Al. What's your name?"

The figure sat up a bit, and leaned back on his elbows. "Al what?"

Boy, this conversation was completely typical, but the uneasy feeling remained. "I can't tell you my last name either."

"Then I guess I can't tell you mine."

Al smiled and patted the figure on the arm. "Why don't you get a little rest. I'll be back later?"

"Wait." The visitor sounded anxious. He had a right to be. "Please tell me where I am."

Pushing buttons on the handlink, Al summoned Verbena. It was her job to keep the visitors in good mental health. "I know you're disoriented. You may not even remember your name, but you're not in any danger and you'll be home soon.

"You're an alien?"

Another typical response. Al thought it pretty amusing that the visitors thought he was an alien. "No, actually, I'm Italian." That usually got a small chuckle, easing the fear a bit. Dr. Beeks, the project psychiatrist, entered quietly and Al motioned her near. "This is Verbena. She's going to stay with you for a while to make sure you're okay."

Al knew Verbena could calm the most disturbing fears. She flashed a smile at the visitor and spoke quietly. "So you've met Al and you know my name. What's yours?"

"Dan Harrington."

The name wasn't hard to research, but Al thought it best to do that work away from the frightened man. Before he left, he said, "Thanks, Dan. I'm going to leave you in terrific hands here. She's one hell of a lady."

In the Control Room, Al turned into the Commanding Officer that he was. "Ziggy, where's Sam?" He stood still while a nurse took basic vital signs. SOP for the beginning of each leap. "Come on, Ziggy. I don't have all day."

"A more appropriate choice of words would have been 'I don't have all morning,' as it's only 4:40, but I'm sure you are unconcerned with this minor gaff. Now, I'll tell you about Dr. Beckett's current leap. I'm sure you'll be highly amused."

"Right now, I'm highly out of patience. What's happening?"

"Dr. Beckett is a professor in Chicago. The year is 1971. He is in class at this moment and I think you should just drop in. He'll be so glad to see you.

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine, but in an embarrassing situation, the kind you always enjoy so much."

Pulling a cigar from his pocket, he marched toward the icy Imaging Chamber. "Good. I need a laugh. Something doesn't feel right here. Do some digging into this guy's background."

The Imaging Chamber door slid open and he stood inside. The idea of being surrounded by a ring of radium never appealed to him, but there didn't seem to be any ill effects. The handlink was accessed and Al found himself . . .

The canvas bag in Sam Beckett's hand was warm and a soft, brown substance oozed from the hole at the bottom making small mounds of stuff in front of him. It was about the most disgusting thing he had felt and seen in a long time. Around him he heard giggles. He was teaching a class in something and it didn't look like anything he wanted to learn about. The brown goo still oozed, but the smell wasn't what he expected. This stuff smelled good, like chocolate.

"Chef Harrington, I thought you were showing us how to do lattice work. Even I can make messes like that."

Half a dozen very young men stood around him. They wore white jackets and toques. "Oh, boy." The neophytes stared at him and Al laughed from across the room. "I think I'd like to see what you can do first. Then I can pick up where your skills leave off." Handing the pastry bag to one of the boys, he said, "I'm going to let you all work here for a few minutes. I'll be right back."

Sam walked over to the hologram chuckling in the corner of the room. Al tried wiping the smile from his face but it was impossible. Sam gestured to the amused Admiral to follow him out in the hall. Al was still laughing when they were safe from spying eyes.

"It wasn't that funny. Al, I'm supposed to be teaching these kids how to cook."

Staring down at the handlink, hoping to quell his laughter he answered, "Actually, you're a pastry chef," Waving his arm in a very royal fashion he continued, "You teach them how to turn cream puffs into swans."

Panic set in almost immediately. "I can't cook, can I?"

"You cook as well as you pilot airplanes."

"But I don't know how to fly."

"So you get my point."

Sam tried to stem his frustration. "Despite the fact that I'm sure you were a chef at some time in your life, I doubt even you have experience with pastry."

"True, true, although there was that one night Beth and I were eating some zabaglione I made and it sort of got out of hand and onto toes and tummies, if you know what I mean."

"Al, please, not more stories about your love life." It was a typical opening conversation and as repetitious as it was, it served as a reminder that there was some sort of constancy in Sam's forever changing life. "Why am I here?"

The handlink moaned and whistled as Al beat his palm against his connection to the computer just a few yards away. "Not sure yet. Your name is Daniel Harrington. You're a pastry chef at Washington Trade School in Chicago. It's Friday, May 14 1971. You know, I love Chicago. They got the best pizza here. There's a restaurant in the city called Gino's . . ."

"Al, tell me things I need to know."

Not being able to let an opening slide by, Al said, "Always stir flour into a cake. Never use a beater." He was glared at with an impatience that Al always found amusing. "Hey, I told you what I know. I don't make the assignments. Listen, go back in there and dismiss class for the day. I'll try to get more information from Ziggy" Shooing his young friend back to the waiting students, he waved his hand, "Go on, go on, go on."

Ten minutes later, Al and Sam were outside the school and walking toward a car. "Okay, you know your name. You're 61 years old. You've been married since 1944. Your wife's name is Renee and you have six kids including a set of boy/girl twins. Your two oldest kids, Arnold and Leo are married and out on their own. The twins, William and Jillian are away at college. Hey, isn't that cute, Bill and Jill." Sam grimaced and Al continued, "It's better than Jack and Jill which I'm sure crossed their minds. Your last two are at home. Jeffrey," the handlink squealed incessantly, "Oh, excuse me. He prefers Jeff. Anyway, he's graduating high school and your youngest daughter Michelle is graduating from junior high."

Leaping into someone whose career made sense made life easier. Pastry wasn't on his list of skills. "Just tell me what's going on with Dan so I can leap out of here before someone asks me to really cook."

"Bake, Sam. You bake." They reached a big gold and black 1969 Olds 98. The sarcasm was purposeful. "Nice wheels, Sam. Geez, I've landed planes on things smaller than this."

Fumbling in his pockets for keys, Sam finally got himself inside the mega-car. "Would you like to tell me where I'm going?"

Al adjusted his holographic image and "sat" in the passenger seat. "You live in Park Ridge, a burb near O'Hare Airport."

"Well, that's a big help."

"Turn left at the corner."

The car pulled out of the school parking lot and started toward home. "So, what's the problem with the Harringtons?"

"Let's see what Ziggy has to say here." The handlink had been referred to as a collection of gummy bears, jujubes, Christmas lights, and other not so nice appellations. Today it responded with a minimum of squeaks and squawks. "You seem to be doing all right. You've got tenure at the school and are well respected in the cake and pie biz."

"Ha, ha. What's my wife's name? Renee?"

"Right Renee. She's a stay-at-home mom and with six kids that's a full time job. More pokes at the handlink and Al said, "Your oldest son Arnold and his wife Louise have a little girl named Ellen. He sells insurance and they're all okay. Let's check out Leo. He's married to a woman named Judy. They have two kids. He sells shoes and he's happy as a clam. Apparently Leo's not the brain surgeon in the family. Bill and Jill attend Southern Illinois University and are just about average students. They both graduate on time and they're fine."

"So far, you got nothing. This crowd is more saccharine than the Brady Bunch. I'm going to have to figure this one out on my own, aren't I." Al's face suddenly turned from carefree to careworn. It was a transition that Sam recognized. It meant something really wrong was about to happen, really wrong. "What's up, Al?"

"Ziggy's found your mission, It's Jeff, the youngest son. Looks like he never fit into the family. He's kind of an angry kid, always in and out of trouble."

"What happens to him?"

"He enlists in the Army right out of school, gets shipped to Vietnam and is killed there. His mother can't deal with his death and commits suicide by turning the gas stove on, all the burners and the oven, too. Dan is a professional chef, so the stove is a good one, lots of gas.

"Oh, boy."

"There's more. The youngest kid, Michelle, comes home with two kids she's baby-sitting. One of them has one of those sparkler gadgets, you know those mechanical toy things that spin and make little sparks. According to the autopsy reports, the kids were playing with it when they walked into the kitchen. The room explodes and Michelle and the kids die, too."

The prospect of dead children shook both the Leaper and the Observer. It was a scenario they both dreaded and filled them with apprehension. "How am I supposed to stop all that, Al?"

"Keep Jeff out of the Army. That should do it. One less Vietnam casualty is okay by me, anyhow. I'm going to go back and see what I can dig up on Jeff. Maybe I can find some info that will help."

"Wait. How do I get home?"

"Keep going, exit at Cumberland, go half a mile north toward Devon, turn right by Mary Seat of Wisdom church, left on Brophy and you'll find it no problem. Goodbye, Sam." He disappeared into the white light, leaving Sam alone, driving to Dan's house.


	2. Part II

Jeff slammed the front door so hard the porcelain figurines in the curio cabinet shook. Renee was too angry with her son to even move. She privately counted to ten. After realizing that didn't help, she slammed the back door making her own exit from the scene. Sam pulled the car into the driveway in time to see his "son" ride off on a motorcycle. His "wife" stood next to the garage just waiting for him so she could begin, "Do you know what he said today? Have you any idea what he said?"

Sam barely had time to get out of the car before she demanded an answer. "Hi, honey. Was that Jeff?"

She looked at him as if he was crazy. "Who do you think it was? Who else around here rides a motorcycle? He's the only one who's that foolish." There wasn't even a millisecond of time taken for a breath. "The principal called today. Our son, our little valedictorian, doesn't want to go to graduation. He's supposed to give the valedictory address. He's refusing to show up."

"He's valedictorian?"

Now she was angry with Sam. "When you're ready to talk about it, let me know. I'm going for a walk. Watch the roast in the oven." The smoke she left behind was almost as thick as the smoke from Jeff's motorcycle.

It was amazing how many times the phrase "Oh, boy," was appropriate. Walking toward the house, Sam thought about young Jeff and his volatile mother. He wasn't prepared for the anger he saw. From what Al told him, he thought Jeff probably wasn't much of a student and finding a college to take him would be hard, but this kid was a valedictorian, a valedictorian on a motorcycle with a rebellious streak as big as the city itself.

The back door was still open and the smell of a nearly done roast permeated the air. His common sense told him red meat wasn't healthful, but Sam always enjoyed a good piece of beef. He checked dinner and then made his way farther into the house. From what he could tell, he was alone. This kind of time was precious. It gave Sam an opportunity to investigate his current life. The ranch house was typical for the burgeoning suburb. He entered through the kitchen noticing the immaculate counter tops and sparkling white enameled appliances. Even Thelma Beckett would be in awe of the cleanliness here.

Finding the bedroom wasn't much trouble and Sam started looking for a change of clothes. Dan had a comfortable wardrobe, which was always a pleasure. The wall held a family portrait. They were pretty much an average looking bunch, except for the boy that had to be Jeff. This boy just didn't look like his siblings. In the Harrington faces was that All-American lack of ethnicity. Mousey brown hair, nondescript eyes, average build, not handsome, not altogether unattractive, just kind of normal. Then there was Jeff. His curly hair was dark, and worn long and wild. Even though he was small boned there was a strength in his build. A decided impatience shown in his dark eyes. This kid was the family oddball. A small chuckle sounded out. Whispering to no one Sam said, "Looks like Al."

From behind him he heard, "Don't blame him on me. I was only 16 when he was born."

Turning around with the smirk still on his face, "Well, it's not impossible, Al. I mean, you weren't exactly inexperienced with women when you were 16."

Al found no humor in Sam's gentle taunting. "Drop it."

For some reason, the conversation was making the Admiral more nervous than it should have. "What's the matter? You all right?"

He rolled his eyes and said, "I'm fine. I just have a weird feeling about this one and I don't know why yet."

With nothing more than that to go on, Sam decided to change the subject. He went for a safe subject. "How's Dan doing?"

"Verbena's with him. I think he's okay," but that was part of the problem. Everything seemed okay except for his queasiness. He became lost in his thoughts.

Sam started searching the closet for a change of clothes. "Any more word on Jeff? I saw him tear out of here on a motorcycle. He drives like you, too."

The crack brought Al back to the current situation and he wasn't amused. "I'm not his father." Al, unlike anyone else involved in the project, was fully aware of his alternate life history where he was married five times.

"It was a joke, Al. Take it easy. What's the matter? You've been acting weird since this leap started." He pulled a green polo shirt and a pair of jeans from the selection in front of him.

The Admiral shook his head, puzzled by the apprehension he felt. "I think maybe I met the kid in one of the camps. Ziggy says he dies in 1972. I was in a big camp then, lots of men, well, boys mostly. The boys were the saddest. They had a lot of trouble there."

Al had a tendency to minimize his enslavement in Vietnam by making others out to be the victims and heroes of that most ugly of wars. "Don't forget, buddy, you were young, too."

He quietly admitted to his best friend, "I was older then than I am now. The boys didn't live through the beating as well as us older guys. I mean, they beat us just as bad. Worse, usually, but the torture really messed up the boys."

It always overwhelmed Sam that his friend could throw around words like "beating" and "torture" the way other men talked about baseball and golf.

Al continued to reflect. "Jeff Harrington, I think maybe he was in camp with me, but Sam, I promised I'd never forget their names, you know the ones that died and now, I can't come up with a single one. How could I forget them, Sam? I watched them die and I promised I'd remember their names." He felt profound disappointment in himself.

Sam saw the horror of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome encroaching once again. "Al, you need to talk to Verbena. I don't know how to help you with this Vietnam stuff."

His reaction was quick and too defensive. "Did I ask for help?"

Sam made sure his eyes met the Admiral's. "Friends don't need to ask."

Al sheepishly looked away, embarrassed by his snapped response. Embarrassed also by his admissions about Vietnam. Those were protected thoughts he never meant to share.

From the hallway they heard Renee's rapidly approaching footsteps. She came into the bedroom and without saying anything she wrapped her arms around Sam and cried. A weird chill made Al shudder. Something about her eyes worried him, but he shook it off. The Admiral never handled tears well. "Sam, do something."

Sam nodded, held Renee and watched Al disappear into the white light of the imaging chamber door. "We'll get him into college, Renee. I know we will."

Without pulling away from her husband she said, "How can he do this to me?"

He kept his arms around her, but his face had a puzzled look. For some reason, he expected her to wonder how Jeff could do this to himself, not to her. Now, like Al, Sam was starting to feel uncomfortable. Exactly what was going on here?

The Observer decided to duck out. He exited the Imaging Chamber and quietly handed over the handlink to Gooshie. "What time is it anyhow?"

"Ten thirty. Have you eaten anything? You know, sometimes, you don't eat when Sam's in a leap." He had forgotten food again. "Admiral, Mrs. Calavicci told me to send you home for breakfast."

He hadn't heard a word she said, but he answered, "Yeah, thanks."

"Ziggy said that visitor's son died in Vietnam. Every time a leap has something to do with the war, you get a little unsettled."

He hated the idea that he was that transparent. "Unsettled? That's just what I need to hear. I'm going to my quarters. Call me if you need me, but only if you really need me." The elevator door opened. He was tired. Averaging about four hours sleep a night for more than ten years made him always feel tired. This was different though. This exhaustion had something to do with the leap. Something felt really odd, but worrying wasn't going to help. Maybe his PTSS was coming up again. Each time the humiliating self-betrayal resurfaced, he was surprised and angered. Al Calavicci was no mental case, but even he was having a harder and harder time believing that.

When he entered his rooms, Beth was in a debate with the only Calavicci daughter still at home. Allegra was her father's child. Of the four girls, Allegra looked most like him, had his temperament, his mind, and at 16 she even had his dark side. Beth was wagging her finger, always a bad sign, "You're not going. Period."

Al shook his head, "What's wrong?"

Allegra came to her father's side. He was usually her ally and together they overturned Beth's decisions more often than Beth liked. "Daddy, I'm 16 now."

"I can't imagine your mother is debating that. Where does she not want you to go?"

"An overnight party, that's all. I'm 16."

Beth piped in, "Ask her where this party is."

The Admiral looked at his wild child knowing he would not be overturning Beth's decision this time. "Okay, where?"

"It's just a party." She hoped he wouldn't want more information, but his eyes told her to fess up or else. "It's at the Doubletree in Albuquerque."

There was something Allegra didn't want to tell her father, but he continued, "Whose party?"

"Tiffany Hassilev. It's her birthday."

He continued to stare into her eyes, "Chaperones?"

The young woman whined, "Daddy, I'm 16."

Al could whine right back with the best of them, "I'm 64 and I was 16 once and I should have been chaperoned until I was 22. How dumb do you think I am? You're not going."

"Daddy, please."

"Allegra, it's not going to happen. That's it." His stomach rumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.

The youngest Calavicci rolled here eyes and started toward her room, "Fine. I won't go. I'll be an outcast. No one will ever invite me again. My parents don't trust me." She kept on muttering until they heard her door close.

Al sat at the kitchen table, buried his head in his hands and started laughing, "Where did we get that one?"

Beth put her arms around him, "Al honey, she's all you, all you. Now you know what my life has been like."

He leaned into her arms looking for comfort, "Babe, I love you. If you hadn't been there when I got home my life would have been a complete mess."

The reference to Vietnam was a warning signal. The Admiral was going to be having some hard times. "Oh, Al. Again? More dreams?"

He wanted her to hold onto him for dear life. "Not yet. Soon, I think."

The words chilled her. She'd heard them before and they always meant nightly horrible recollections of his personal hell. She had to brace herself because his hell always became the family's. At least Allegra was at an age where she had some understanding why her father sometimes screamed out in his sleep. Beth turned her focus back to her husband, "Al, you want something to eat?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather get some rest." He left Beth in the kitchen. Watching him walk away, head down, she knew the first of the dreams would be coming very soon.

Verbena Beeks was tidying up her perpetually disordered desk. It was almost 5:15 and she wanted to check on Dan Harrington before she signed out for the day. In her eyes, this was a dream leap. Dan was cooperative and didn't protest the light sleep medication Verbena administered. Al was getting much needed rest. Ziggy was in fine technical order. She was on her way out when she heard a voice.

"Dr. Beeks, I need to speak with you privately."

The voice belonged to Ziggy and the blessed calm Verbena was just reflecting on was instantly shattered. If Ziggy wanted her, then something was up. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure if anything is wrong. I discovered something in my investigation of Daniel Harrington and his family that may impact on the outcome of Dr. Beckett's leap."

"Shouldn't you be talking to the Admiral?"

The pause was long enough to let Verbena know something very bad was going on here. "I believe that you're the appropriate person to speak with. Perhaps you should sit down."

Verbena followed orders and felt her heart rate increase. "Okay, Ziggy. Give."

"Daniel Harrington's original name was Elwin Daniel Hackett. In 1943, prior to his current career, he was a salesman. He met his wife in New York City where he impregnated Renee. They left New York together at that time. In 1944four months subsequent to their marriage, their first son Arnold was born."

None of this seemed earth shattering. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Mrs. Harrington goes by Renee currently. Her original name was Irina. Daniel is her second husband. She was married before and had two children, the first, like Arnold, born of out wedlock a year prior to her marriage. When she ran away with Daniel, she abandoned her children when their biological father was overseas. Later, the father returned and attempted to reconcile with his children, but he died within months leaving the children orphaned."

The story wasn't unfamiliar and her intuition told her exactly the problem confronting them, but she needed to hear it. "Keep going, Ziggy. Say it out loud."

"Dr. Beeks, Renee Hackett is Irina Calavicci, the Admiral's biological mother."

Throwing her gaze to the ceiling Verbena cringed and moaned, "Damn it and this leap was going so well, too."

"I'm sorry, but I've checked every other possible scenario and she is his mother. I've also run every possible scenario regarding the importance of this information and according to my preliminary calculations, this fact should not impact directly on Dr. Beckett's mission, therefore it may not be necessary for the Admiral to be told."

"Not tell him? What do you think the Admiral will do if he discovers this on his own or worse after Sam leaps out of Dan Harrington?"

The computer was running the scenarios and finally, wistfully answered. "It is at times like this I'm glad I wasn't programmed to love. Good day, Dr. Beeks."

"Wait, Ziggy. Where is the Admiral now?"

"He's in his quarters. Goodbye."

She slowly exhaled, "Oh, boy."

Al woke up agitated, out of breath and sweating. The night terrors and dreamed recollections of his tortured incarceration startled him from sleep. This wasn't a good sign. Impossible as he knew it was, he felt Vietnam's dirt and grime on his face, and, while his bared back certainly wasn't bleeding, he shivered with the specter of raw, open wounds. Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome was too sanitized a name for what was happening to him yet again. It certainly was not post and the trauma was more than stress. There wasn't going to be any more sleep.

Allegra heard the sounds and came to his room. Opening the door slowly, she stood by quietly until she felt it safe to let him know she was there. She sat at the end of his bed. "Daddy? It's okay. You're home. You're safe."

His fatherly heart broke to hear his little girl comforting him. It was patently unfair that his children should have to go through this. He sat up and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "You'd think I'd know that by now. Sorry, kid."

She took his hand. "Mom went to the store. She just left about half an hour ago." His hair was wet from sweat. "Why don't you take a shower. You'll feel better. Mom left some spaghetti Bolognese for you. I'll go heat it up."

"You shouldn't be taking care of me. This is wrong."

"No, it isn't. It's exactly right. Go shower before you get all stinky."

Laughing out loud made him feel better. "God, I love you, kid."

She stood up and in a cadence too much like his she said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get going." Winking at him, she left him alone.

A hot shower washed away the past for the time being. He pulled on a pair of slacks, but his back felt raw, like he still had open cuts slicing across it. He didn't want a shirt just yet. The fire of the recollected beating had to die down first. The emptiness in the pit of his stomach was eased with the homemade pasta Allegra prepared. He ate about half of the plate and couldn't down any more. He moved into his small home office and sat down in front of his computer console, but the administrative tasks of running the Project held no interest.

However, the desire to take off on his new sleek motorcycle started gaining momentum. He wanted to get out on the road again and feel the wind press against him as he flew along the highways. That would have to wait though. Dan Harrington's youngest son's name would be inscribed forever on the Wall if he couldn't help figure out how to save him. He barely heard Allegra call him, "Dad, Dr. Beeks is here."

"Beeks? I'll be right out." He saved his work, slipped back into the bedroom to grab a black silk tee shirt to pull over his head. Walking into the living room he saw the project shrink, "Verbena, everything okay?"

The psychiatrist was seated on the couch. "Dan is fine, but there's a wrinkle you need to know."

He sat in an armchair across from her and kept the conversation moving. "What can I do for you?"

The inevitable had arrived. "Al, there's something about this leap. It's peripheral information actually. Shouldn't impact on Sam at all, but . . ." She stopped talking in anticipation of the explosion she was about to witness.

"You're making me nervous."

Easing into the subject seemed the better route. "Does the name Elwin Hackett sound familiar?"

It wasn't completely unfamiliar, but nothing about it brought any real recollection. "I don't think so. Who is he?"

"Elwin Hackett is Daniel Harrington's original name. He changed it." Al's face questioned the importance of the information so far. "Renee was married before. Dan got her pregnant and she left her husband and two children in New York City to run off with him." Al's throat tightened and he had to consciously relax in order to breathe. "That's when they changed their names."

He knew exactly where this was going, but someone else had to say it out loud first. "What was her name?"

No more evasion was possible. "Irina Calavicci." Verbena braced herself for a wave of fury, but it never came.

His eyes narrowed down and he grunted out a laugh. "It's been one hell of a day." Avoidance was always his way to handle uncomfortable situations. "You want some coffee? Ally makes great espresso."

This was certainly not the reaction she expected. "That's it, Al?"

"Does Sam know?"

"Not yet. Ziggy found out in her research. She told me. We're the only ones."

"If it doesn't matter to the leap, then it doesn't matter at all."

His nonchalance bothered her. "I don't believe that."

With a practiced, disarming, charming smile he said, "Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I don't care what you believe and," he repeated, "If it doesn't matter to the leap, it doesn't matter at all."

Verbena leaned closer to him, "I'm sorry, Admiral. I'm sorry you have to see her again. Can you be objective here?"

His dark eyes bore into hers "Trudy was four when our mother left us and, in case you didn't know, she had Down syndrome and was severely mentally retarded. Our mother abandoned us and for nine days, I bathed my sister. I fed her. I changed her diapers. I read to her. I put her to bed. Kind of a lot to expect of a seven-year-old, don't you think? Now you tell me if I can be objective. If I could, I really would be nuts and you'd have me on a couch staring at ink blots." He hoped he was hiding his growing anxiety. Standing up was an invitation for Verbena to leave and she understood. "I have to check on Sam, so I guess I'll end up seeing her again."

"Okay, Admiral. If you need to talk, call me anytime and I mean anytime."

After she left, Al had the freedom he required. Both his hands immediately clenched into fists that were not going to open for anyone. Deep breaths weren't helping much and only seemed to fan the fire in his gut. He wanted to douse the heat with a bottle of Glenlivet, but opted for pounding a fist into the table. "Damn it."

Allegra overheard it all. "Dad, is my grandmother really part of this leap?"

"That woman is not your grandmother. She has to earn that title by being my mother and she didn't bother doing that." He had slept, sort of, ate a little and still he felt tired and hungry, but sleep and food held no appeal. "I'm going to get some info from Ziggy and then see Sam. Tell you mother." Flexing his fingers, he walked back into his tiny office and activated his computer terminal. "Ziggy, anything new on Jeff?"

It took a few seconds for the computer to respond. "Have you spoken to Dr. Beeks?"

"Renee is my mother. Anything new on Jeff? How is he doing in school?"

"You're half brother is a 4.0 student, Admiral."

Al hadn't really considered Jeff in that light. He had a half brother. He had fourhalf brothers and two half sisters. There was this family in Chicago and he had a blood tie to it. He shook the thought out of his head physically. "I'm bordering on being extremely out of patience. Don't make me drag everything out of you."

Resigned to Al's mood, Ziggy continued. "Jeff seems to have inherited many of the same traits you did." Al cringed at the comparison. "He likes to move fast on machines and with girls. He has had the lead in three school plays and has a particular aptitude for electrical design, physics, astronomy, theater, literature and art. See what I mean? Just like his half brother."

"Stop calling him my half brother. It doesn't impact on the leap, so drop it."

"Originally I did say there would be no impact, but I reconsidered. You, more than anyone, are capable of understanding Jeff's dilemma. His mother doesn't understand his ways and his ways are yours." Continuing, Ziggy asked, "Do you look more like your father or your mother?"

Al had to think back to the few pictures he had of his father pictures that were only in his mind. "My father was built more like Sam, you know, tall, broad shoulders. I guess I'm more like my mother, lucky me."

"Remember when Dan arrived, he said you looked familiar. Jeff's physical resemblance to you may be part of the problem. Perhaps Renee never reconciled her abrupt departure from you and your sister and transferred that guilt onto Jeff. He is, in essence, being punished for reminding her of you."

As he spoke, he hated what he said, "Am I supposed to care?"

"I'm only offering this analysis to help Jeff."

Privately he admitted Ziggy was right, but he needed to maintain some sense of authority. In the ugliest voice he could muster to cover his apprehension he said, "Don't patronize me." His own mind was racing faster than Ziggy's CPU. He walked from his office and told Allegra, "I'm going to see Sam." He was on his way out the door when he stopped, returned to his child and held her. "I love you, Allegra. You need to know that." He touched her innocent face and kissed her forehead. "You have to know that."

Allie was a bit disconcerted, "I do, Dad. I love you, too."

Ten minutes later, the Imaging Chamber spun around the Admiral for a few seconds and then he "landed" in Dan and Renee's bedroom. The sight of Sam asleep next to his mother even if at a Sam Beckett respectable distance threw his rage into his heart. She'd sleep with anyone. He felt himself growing pale and forced a few deep breaths to help steady his nerves. Renee couldn't hear him, so he spoke out at a normal volume, "Wake up, Sam. Come on. We got to talk."

It took almost half a minute of one-sided conversation to get Sam to open his eyes. The moment Sam was able to focus he got up motioning for Al to follow him. They didn't speak until they were on the back porch. Al wasn't hiding his bitterness very well. He started in right away, asking with all the sarcasm he had, "Is she any good in bed?"

Sam knew when the Admiral was being playful. This was not one of those times. "Not funny, Al. She's a wreck with worry."

"You mean you didn't screw her?" Al didn't want to say these things but something almost compelled him to. "She only married you because she got pregnant and anyway, you should be worrying about Jeff, not her."

Something was really wrong. Not only did Al sound drunk angry, he was dressed in plain black. No color anywhere. "What's the real problem here, Al?" For Sam, Al's eyes were always the alcohol giveaway. From what Sam could tell, the Admiral was stone cold sober and that almost made him more nervous. "Jeff isn't home yet."

"I'm not surprised." The leaper looked puzzled. "Sam, when you go off mad on a motorcycle, you stay out all night."

"How do you know?" Realizing exactly how he knew, Sam followed up immediately, "Oh, I forgot you used to do that." The motor pool at PQL had one corner reserved for Al's array of bikes. No amount of talk about the hazards kept the Admiral from racing away every so often on one of his imported machines. "That garage of yours still packed with donorcycles, I mean motorcycles?"

He skipped over the reference to organ donors. "Yeah, just picked up a new one, an Italian import. Maybe I'll go for a ride when I get back." The thought of riding into the New Mexico mountains really appealed to him.

"I know why Jeff rode off, but why do you have to?" The lack of a verbal answer was a full chapter of information. Al was in distress. Vietnam would do it, but then a lot of things would. "Al, what's the date at the project?"

"July 28th."

The date didn't ring a bell. Amazingly he remembered June 15 was Al's birthday. That shouldn't be a problem unless, "Did you just have a big birthday like your 60th?"

"Sixty?" While Al looked and behaved far younger than his age, he was surprised Sam shaved years from the reality. "I just turned 64. Why should that matter?"

"I'm trying to figure why you're on edge here. I don't think it's Jeff. Something's going on with you. What's wrong?"

It was an invitation to tell Sam about Renee, but he still couldn't give voice to this information, not to Sam. It amazed him that seeing his mother, at his age, had such a profound effect on him. The woman had been out of his life for 57 years. "You're going to think it's stupid."

Hoping to relieve the tension, Sam teased, "I know. Beth's mad at you."

Sam just gave him an out. A sheepish grin was produced and with a typical arm-waving gesture he confessed, "Yeah, Beth's mad. So what's new?"

"She'll get over it. I don't know why, but she always forgives you for whatever it is you do."

Trying to get on the subject Al shot back, "Cute. Now, about Jeff."

Sam sat in a rattan chair. "I've been thinking about him, Al. Why would a valedictorian want to go off and join the Army at the height of the Vietnam War?"

"I hate to break the news to you, but some smart guys went to Vietnam, Sam." Ziggy was making all the appropriate noises as Al punched in query after query, but the things he was telling Sam came from his own experience, not from the computer. "Jeff has never fit in. He's the least favorite kid in this house and he knows it." He pointed toward the bedroom. "Going to Vietnam is his way of punishing her."

"Does he hate his mother that much?"

"He probably loves her, but that just makes her rejection all the worse. Since the day he was born, he's reminded her of. . ." and he caught himself before he said too much, at least he thought he had.

"Of what?"

The Admiral started pacing back and forth. "I don't know. I'm just talking." The pacing quickened. "Listen, Sam. Jeff wants his mother to love him and she doesn't and she never will. What could be the ultimate revenge?"

"You're asking me? How should I know?"

"You don't know, but I do, smart boy." His temper was starting to get the better of him. The news about Renee was festering too quickly. "When you really want to get to someone, you make them feel guilty. Being responsible for your own kid's death is about the worst. He knows exactly what he's doing. I'd even bet he volunteered for all the dangerous missions his squad got. I knew guys like that. Could never figure it." That last statement was a lie, but he didn't think Sam would catch it.

Sam was exasperated. "How are we going to talk him out of trying to screw up Renee's life?"

"We don't have to. All we need to do is get him past joining the Army although screwing up Renee's life would be a nice little bonus."

Now there was no question in Sam's mind. "Al, you're still not coming clean here. What is the matter? and this isn't about an argument with Beth."

He hung his head. If he didn't tell, his brain would implode. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

Sam's heart started racing, "Are you alright?"

His face tightened into pure pain, "This is hard."

"You didn't answer me. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I feel like hell, but I'm fine. The thing is," hiding behind eyes closed tight, he revealed, "Renee and I have met before."

"Jeff is your son. I knew it."

In hostile anger, Al barked, "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not that kid's father? You'd think you'd start believing me." His finger pointed to the bedroom again. "It's her. She's my mother." Sam sat open-mouthed, stunned into silence. Al's outrage grew. "I wonder why she doesn't seem to care for Jeff. You said we look alike."

"Alike? What the hell are you talking about? She hasn't seen you since you were a kid."

"Jeff doesn't look like the other Harringtons. I bet if you find pictures of him as a kid we'd look alike. She hates him because he reminds her of what she did to Trudy and me." Spitting out his wrath and hate fueled the tirade. "Some piece of work, my mother, isn't she?"

Sam liked to give people a fair chance, but he wasn't sure what to do. There would be no defending Renee to Al and he didn't really want to defend her. In his most horrible nightmares, he couldn't imagine Thelma Beckett abandoning her children. "How long have you known this?"

"I just found out before I came." Words were simply not coming to him. They spoke in silences for a very long time. Finally, a key turned in the back door and Jeff came in. Al sighed in relief, "Good. He's safe." Neither Jeff nor Sam said anything. The young man sat on the couch across from his "father." Al moved closer to his brother. "What do you say, Sam? Think we look alike now?"

There was no doubt. Jeff looked more like Al than Bingo did! Sam voiced, "Oh, boy."

The half brothers both said, "Oh, boy, what?"

The unison was startling. "Oh, boy, nothing. Are you okay?" A slight shrug and downward glance told Sam that physically Jeff was fine, but inside he was ripped into shreds. "You want to talk?"

The physical resemblance was striking, but the posture and attitude were even more remarkable. "Not really, Dad."

Sam pressed on for both of Renee's sons. "Well, I'd kind of like to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?"

Resigned to yet another conversation about the problem in the Harrington household, Jeff gave in, "Sure, what the hell, but I don't have new answers for you. She hates me."

Speaking to both of the people before him, Sam said, "I don't think she hates you. Your mother is confused about some things. People do stuff they don't mean to do. It's hard for her to figure out all the ramifications of her actions. It's hard to live with guilt."

Jeff rubbed his hand over his face in a move that duplicated the Admiral's. "So tell me about that one. I feel guilty all the time. I can't help it if I look like her first son. I had nothing to do with it. To be honest, from what she says, he was a sociopath and it was probably a good thing he didn't live to grow up. He'd be some kind of mass murderer, I'm sure. I mean, Dad, I never beat up other kids. I didn't drown my little sister." Al was turning ghostly pale at the lies he was hearing. "I think the world is lucky he hanged himself after murdering Trudy. It was a terrible experience for her. I understand that, but Mom makes me pay for what he did every day just because I look like him. I'm tired of it."

Al was unable to hide his desperation. "Why would she lie like that?"

Sam was as stunned as his friend. There was no way to answer Al's question. "Jeff, I understand why you want to leave. To be honest, I don't blame you, but what I don't understand is why you're choosing to go into the Army when you have so much potential for college. It takes quite a mind to be valedictorian and college will get you out of the house as much as the Army will. It's also not nearly as dangerous."

"I got to go, Dad. If I'm going to write about war, then I need to experience it."

Al threw his attention back onto Jeff. "What's he planning to write, Sam?"

"What do you want to write?"

Using mannerisms that Sam had seen so often in Al, Jeff sighed, rolled his eyes, and ran his fingers roughly through his hair. "Dad, this is a dirty war. We got men and boys dying there for no reason. I want to know why they think they're there. I want to get inside the minds of the front-line guys. I'll only understand that if I'm one of them."

Mumbling, Al whispered, "The kid's got some integrity."

Trying to address Al and Jeff at the same time, Sam asserted, "That's stupid. There are ways of finding out what happened without being there."

"Maybe so, Dad, but I write from inside me. I'm not a historian or a journalist, looking to be objective."

"A novelist can write from research and imagination. Stephen King didn't experience homicidal talking cars and exploding chickens."

Jeff laughed at the comment and it was the same high-pitched sound Al had. "Who? You know we're never going to agree here. I want the Army. There's no other way for me to know the truth about what's happening there."

No minds were going to be changed tonight. Sam was tired and he could see Jeff holding back a yawn. "I think it's time to go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow when you get home from school."

"I'm out of here, Sam." The whoosh of the chamber door brought on the white light.

"Tomorrow is Saturday. Well, actually today is Saturday. Goodnight Dad."

Looking to say goodnight to Al Sam said, "Be careful on that motorcycle."

The brothers answered in unison, "I know. I know," and left Sam alone.

Jeff walked toward his room. As he walked past his younger sister's bedroom, he heard muffled tears. It wouldn't be the first time he'd found Michelle crying. Dealing with the crap the world threw at him was a lot easier than trying to make things okay for Michelle. He timidly knocked at her door and opened it a crack. The crying turned into sniffles. With a quiet voice he asked, "Are you awake, kid?"

Her little girl voice answered, "Yeah, I guess so."

Jeff made his way to her bed and nudged her a little. "Move over." Sitting down, he marveled at how young she looked. When he was 14, he figured he was practically grownup, but this kid was far from maturity. "What are the tears for?"

Her hand wiped away the telltale signs. "I wasn't crying."

"Right, so what are the tears for?"

She looked into the eyes of the only sibling that paid real attention to her. "It's Mom and you."

That was the answer he expected, but it always hurt to know his sister was also paying for the tension between him and his mother. "Kid, you know it's only me that she has trouble with. She thinks the world revolves around you and you know what? I think so, too. You the best of the bunch of us."

Michelle adored Jeff and his pride in her made her grow three inches taller. Her smile told him how pleased she was with his words, but she had to tell him, "I'm not anything special. You're the special one, Jeff. I don't understand why Mom doesn't like you."

The kids didn't hear Sam walk past the door. He heard the talking and stopped to eavesdrop.

"It's really complicated, Michelle. It all has to do with her first kids, you know, the ones she had with her first husband."

"I hate them. They're ruining our lives."

Jeff wasn't sure what to tell her. "I've tried to figure it out myself and I can't. It's hard to imagine anyone could do the things her first son did. I guess I look a lot like him and that makes Mom uncomfortable. There's nothing you or I can do about that. It's Mom's problem and we're the ones paying for it." He snuggled up next to her, protective and caring. "So we have to look out for each other. I promise, I will never leave you."

She looked into his eyes. "But you're going to Vietnam. What if you don't come home?"

Sam whispered to himself, "He won't unless Al and I can stop him."

He embraced his kid sister and told her with true belief, "Michelle, I'm not going to die. I promise you, I will not die."

Remembering how his brother Tom said those same words to his sister Katie made Sam's stomach knot up. Tom did come home after Sam changed history, but the original timeline still haunted him.

Michelle's tears started again. Sam heard the boy sing softly to her. "Imagine there's no heaven. It's easy if you try. No hell below us. Above us only sky. Imagine . . ."

A shudder chilled him to the bone. Now hispast was haunting this leap along with Al's. He needed to go back to sleep. He needed respite.


	3. Part III

Returning to the Control Room, Al found Verbena waiting for him. She had that look of professional concern mixed in with a friend's compassion. She followed him into the elevator. "How did it go? Did you tell Sam?"

With an "I'm-not-going-to-tell-you-anything" smile he asked, "What time is it?"

"A little past nine."

He escorted her off the elevator and gallantly kissed her hand. "Goodnight, Dr. Beeks. I'll see you in the morning." His step was strong and confident, his manner showed total control. She felt relieved, but she had forgotten how proficient a liar Al was when necessary.

Walking into his rooms, he found Beth and Allegra watching a movie. "Any good?"

Allegra said, "It's Brad Pitt. Who cares if it's good."

Without stopping he told them, "I'm going for a ride."

Beth looked at him, "Not without talking to me first." She followed Al into the bedroom. "Allegra told me about your mother." He said nothing. "More silent treatment, huh?" She watched him pull clothes from the closet. "You don't need to go off riding tonight. It's too late and you're tired." Still more silence. "And I'm not going to stop you, am I?" It's not that he didn't want to talk to Beth. He just knew that starting to talk would be overwhelming and he needed something else at the moment. After he changed into his leathers, he kissed his bride and made his way outside to the private garage he had built for his toys.

Sam crawled back into bed trying not to wake Renee. He thought he was successful, but she mumbled under her breath, "Did you and Jeffrey have a nice heart to heart talking about me?"

"Renee, don't start. It's late."

She sat up and stared at Sam. "Don't start? This is usually the time you enjoy starting things?"

To say he hated this leap was grossly inaccurate. He despised every moment of it and each second made him feel worse and worse. "Except tonight. I don't want to start anything tonight. I'm tired and I want to sleep. Goodnight." He rolled over and pulled the thin blanket over him.

Renee just lay back and turned her back to Sam. "I heard Jeff singing to his sister again. I wish he'd stop it."

Even though he didn't want to talk, he had to ask, "What's wrong with singing to his sister? I bet Al sang all the time to Trudy." Sam surprised himself with his comment.

Attacking his blind side, Renee slapped him hard. His first reaction was to hit back, but Sam Beckett never hit a woman in his life and even this situation wouldn't bring him to that point. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, took his pillow and quietly and without anger said, "I think it's better if I sleep on the couch."

"Why should tonight be different?" He was at the door of the room when she said, "Tell your son to go to bed."

Looking into her eyes, he told her "His sister needs him. He can stay where he is as long as he wants. Goodnight."

Oddly enough, the desert was the Navy man's favorite place, especially at night when midnight blue skies dulled the sharp outline of the mountains. This was a world where time didn't matter and peace was the gospel for the day. Out in the desert, he wasn't responsible for budgets, reports, hiring, firing, for people's lives. He was just a man in the barest of nature's elements, catching his breath and allowing himself to become nothing but a blessedly insignificant speck of dust.

A small wood fire provided warmth and the only earthly light. Sitting with his back against a rock, his leather-clad legs outstretched before him, he stared into a thermos of coffee. His body was tired, his mind even more so and contemplating coffee grounds was the most complicated thinking he wanted to do, but wanting wasn't enough.

No amount of desire for a blank thought kept the truth from him. His mother not only abandoned him and Trudy, but fabricated indescribably ugly lies. She told people he murdered his sister. Trudy was the only continued source of love he had throughout his childhood, but this was not the time to think about Renee, Sam, or anything else. This time was set-aside for him to become nothing and to lose all sense of physical self. It was a necessary indulgence that kept his brain on track despite all the twisted curves thrown at it.

He threw the rest of his coffee into the fire and listened to it spit. The night was ending long before he wanted it to. There was no respite available anymore, not even out under the clear night sky he dearly loved. He carefully scooped sand over his fire until he assured himself it was out and made his way toward the Duck, his new Ducati Testastretta racing cycle.

His hideout in the mountains was half an hour off the main road leading to the project. By now, it was past three o'clock in the morning and he had the splendor of the New Mexico night to himself. The wristlink, his connection to the Project, flashed in soft hues. After zipping his leather jacket and securing his helmet, he started the powerful race engine, made one last check of the fire and rode toward home.

He owned five motorcycles including the flaming red monument to speed he was riding. His Duck was designed for asphalt, not mountain paths, but speed was what he desired, even while riding the dark, unpaved mountain chicanes. The steeply graded turn was excessively tight and because of it, the damned blind spot was pretty big. Even the light of the moon couldn't brighten the shaded road. He wasn't sure what kind of wildlife he hit, but his front tire flung the little critter under the rear. Once the racing tires lost contact with the gravel road, he lost control of the machine.

All he had to rely on was years of instinct, but instinct can't move mountains. The Testastretta turned into a catapult throwing him into a massive outcropping of rock. His left arm hit first, then his shoulder, back and head. The ringing in his ears and the crunching noises didn't sound promising. Bits of wristlink scattered around. In his mind he heard Sam saying, "Oh, boy!" His own voiced words weren't quite so tame. Then, as consciousness faded, he heard nothing.

Gooshie was running around frantically. He pushed every button imaginable on the communications console. "Dr. Beeks, anyone, anyone at ALL! Where the heck are you?"

Verbena entered the Control Room wearing a robe and slippers. "Gooshie, calm down. What's wrong?"

Gooshie was looking nervous and perplexed. The sexy-voiced computer finally answered for him, "Admiral Calavicci left the project premises over seven hours ago on his motorcycle."

Verbena asked, "Where did he go?"

With a calm, cool voice, Ziggy told them, "I can project the Admiral is between 30.62 and 31.42 miles from the project, but I can't give you a precise location. The wristlink program ceased communication indicating it's been damaged or destroyed. This means we must assume the Admiral is injured."

Gooshie's concern finally found legitimacy. "See? I told you."

"You didn't tell me he was hurt!" Verbena was on the phone in half a second. "This is Dr. Beeks. Admiral Calavicci is out somewhere on his motorcycle and is injured. We need to organize a search immediately." She listened for a moment, "Yes, send out as many as you can. Ziggy will give you the areas to search." She hung up the phone and turned to Gooshie.

Gooshie was feeding queries into Ziggy. "I'm going to try and see if we can somehow locate the wristlink. Some part of it must still be online."

Verbena dreaded he next duty. "I better call Beth."

Eight hours later, the Admiral awoke in a clean, sterile room. A dull beeping noise was the only sound he heard. His eyes tried focusing, but he had trouble making out real shapes until he saw something move. Concentrating on the swatch of red, he finally recognized Beth. "I guess I'm not dead."

She was sitting on a chair pulled next to him. "Not yet and not for lack of trying. You're lucky."

He eyeballed the myriad of traction wires threaded through the flesh and bone of his left arm. Gulping down his dread he said, "That's me. Admiral Lucky." He looked away from the rigging.

His frightened wife asked, "What happened?"

"I think I hit some kind of lizard. Damn, I didn't mean to kill it." It took a few seconds for him to realize Beth was fighting back tears. "I'm okay, Beth. Stupid accident, that's all."

"You scared the shit out of me and when you're well enough, I'm going to whack you myself." There was no holding back tears now, but she tried to get through it by telling Al about his injuries. "Your left arm is pretty badly torn up. You broke your elbow, shoulder and scapula into a whole bunch of little pieces and thank God you wear a helmet. At least you didn't splatter your brain all over the rocks. You got a pretty substantial concussion, though. You could have fractured your skull. Brain injury, oh God." She was getting nervous. Al could see it in her eyes. She kept reminding herself that he was awake and alert. He was probably going to be okay if he rested. "Headaches are going to be standard fair for you for awhile and you'll need some very serious rehab to get your arm back in shape. Overall, you are, as I said before, very lucky." His curly hair fell forward in a way she knew he hated. Brushing it off his face she continued, "You have a lot of healing to do."

Al knew she wasn't only talking about his body. However, in a flash of a second, he set his priorities. Dealing with a bum arm wasn't one of them. He'd had broken bones before. The headaches? Well, his entire life was a headache. No big change there. Things were still in order. Sam came first. "I don't have time for this."

She didn't want to state the obvious, but the Admiral was a man who dealt with facts. "Look, Al, the best thing for Sam is getting you healthy. We'll work out the logistics with Ziggy. Anyhow, considering the situation with you and your mother," and the time was right to play her hand, "it's better if you sit this one out."

Despite the emotional and now physical hurts he was going through, he smiled at her weak attempt to get him off the leap. "No sell, Beth. I have to get back to Sam and work this out with Jeff. When I was up in the mountains I realized the boy doesn't need Sam. He needs me. Sam's there so I can get involved." He had to rely on his wife's expertise. "Now, you have to figure out a way for me to get back to Sam." Looking at his injured arm he said, "I'll need something to wear over this monstrosity." She said nothing and didn't move. Gesturing at his pinned and wired arm he said, "I need your help with this, Beth. It's important to Jeff and to me. If his parents won't be there for him, then I will. He's my brother."

Beth knew her husband was going to do what he believed was right. It was one of the reasons she married him. So many people tried to talk her out of a life with that odd little Italian boy, Al Calavicci. He was moody, irresponsible, arrogant and on the road to hell, but from the instant she laid eyes on him, she knew different. Yeah, he could be irritating, but at the center of his being was a genuine commitment to leave the world a better place. Al would make his mark through his willingness to lay down his life for other people time after time after time. This thing with Jeff was no different. If she made him stay in the infirmary, he would die inside. If she let him go he might die. She knew that for her husband, dying inside was worse. "I'll find something for you to wear." Fighting back more tears, she kissed him and whispered, "Why did I ever fall for you?"

He heard what she meant to say. He heard her tell him to be careful, to remember he had a wife, children and grandchildren who loved him. All he said was, "It was the uniform. What girl wouldn't fall for an ensign?"

"Calavicci, you are incorrigible, but I like that. I'll be back soon."

Beth left him to gather his thoughts. "This is going to hurt." He winced at the pains that shot through his arm.

Ziggy was the ever-present monitor at the Project. She heard his muttering. Her deep, breathy voice whispered to him. "Admiral Calavicci, I don't want you to die."

"Ziggy, you're a computer. Why would you care?"

"Because your neurons are part of my CPU. I depend on you for my life."

With a slightly embarrassed growl, he said, "You'd exist just fine without me.

"But, as you so well know, Admiral, existing isn't the same as living."

He had to stop a minute. "Yeah, well, listen, I want to get some sleep. Dim the lighting. It's like a damned surgical auditorium in here."

"That's because it isa surgical auditorium. Rest well, Admiral." The lights powered down and the harsh outlines of the hospital equipment shaded over in grays. Al closed his eyes and managed a few almost satisfying deep breaths before he fell into a medication induced asleep.

Sam and Renee were finishing up the lunch dishes. They had only polite conversation all day. That was fine by Sam. Knowing this was the woman who had hurt his friend so deeply was making this leap very difficult. He didn't particularly want to help her, but he was there for Jeff and he needed to remember that. Her silence was beginning to get on his nerves. One of them had to start and he figured it was him.

"Renee, Jeff and I talked last night."

"I know. I heard you, remember? What did the little loose cannon have to say?"

"Don't call my son names. I don't like it."

Her eyes threw icicles at him. "At least you admit he's your son. Last week you kept blaming him on me."

"I'd like to take complete credit for him. He's a fine boy, smart, focused. Reminds me of someone I know.

Renee didn't want to talk and that was painfully obvious. He moved toward her thinking that a non-threatening, caring husband would be better able to talk sense to her. Putting his arm around her he said, "Come on, let's go sit down. Let's forget last night and try to talk some of this out, and see what we can do for our son." She was easily led out of the kitchen and onto the back porch. They sat on the wrought iron glider. His arm went around her and again, she buried her head in his shoulder and Sam could hear her cry and feel her body shake. "It's okay. He's going to be okay. We'll make it work out." The words were incredibly empty sounding, but at the moment, they were the best he could come up with.

"Dan, why is he doing this to me? Why does he hate me?" She wiped away the tears with both hands. "I never did anything to him.

Sam tried to frame his thoughts carefully. "He doesn't think you love him. He thinks you hate him because he looks like Al."

The startled look on her face let Sam know that he had opened up a forbidden subject. "I don't want to talk about that again."

"I think we have to. Jeff told me you said Al drowned his sister. Why did you tell him that?"

Her startled look gave way to more violent anger. She brought her hand back and tried to deliver another slap to Sam's face. This time, he caught her hand before it landed. Renee pulled away from Sam. "You're the one who told me to make up that story. The children didn't ever need to know about Al and Trudy."

There was no reason to stop now. The conversation had already produced results that Dan and Renee would have to deal with long after Sam leaped. "They were little children. Why would I want you to tell lies like that?"

She stared into him with anger and hate. Without another word, Renee walked out leaving Sam to wonder about a family whose primary method of dealing with problems was to hit and then storm away. He needed Al's help and the Admiral was making himself far too scarce.

Sam sat on the porch trying to work out some solution for Jeff and a way to help Al, but no good ideas were coming. The longer he was in Dan Hackett's skin, the more he hated this leap.

Renee left Sam and went into the basement of her home. The Harrington's basement had a large finished rec room. A ping-pong table filled one end and a second kitchen was at the other. A full bath was there and another door opened into a workroom. There was the normal workroom stuff, the boiler, the water heater, washer and dryer, and other mechanical necessities for the house. The wall held metal shelves filled with lots of boxes.

Behind the front row of boxes on the top shelf was another smaller box that may have held cigars at one time. She carefully pulled off the dried, cracking rubber band holding the top closed.

Paul Wakefield was grumbling about stubborn patients as he worked on dismantling the overhead traction holding the Admiral's arm in place. "You need to be here, not in the Imaging Chamber."

Years of putting up with Vietnam's torture made Al adept at hiding his pain. Tightening his stomach muscles, he managed only a slight flinch when his elbow was drawn toward his body. "Just secure this contraption so that I can get back to Dr. Beckett."

"You know," Paul increased the tension on the wire through Al's wrist, "anyone else would be in the hospital for two weeks with this kind of injury, not a few hours."

Trying to diffuse the issue and forget the pounding in his head, Al smiled. "Aren't I remarkable?"

Paul ignored the comment. "You're not going to get a sleeve over this. Let me bind your arm to your body. Then you can pin the sleeve down." With his most serious doctor voice, Paul added, "You cannot be moving your shoulder. It is very unstable."

"I've broken bones before."

Looking directly into the Admiral's eyes he warned, "Not like this. I'm not sure you're going to regain full use of that arm. Traction offered you the best opportunity to recover completely. You're blowing it Admiral. I won't make any promises now."

He heard the warning and it registered, but he refused to lose control of the situation. "You done playing mean doctor now?" Wakefield sighed in exasperation. "Listen, Paul, I am responsible for my own actions. If I'm screwing up my chances to play the violin, so be it."

The doctor wrapped more and more elastic bandages around Al's arm and body. "What about those damn motorcycles of yours? Can you ride without an arm that works? How about flying airplanes?"

The doctor's tirade had to end. Al put on his most authoritative commander's face. "I'm tired of listening to this. I understand what you're saying and what I'm doing. Your job now is to make me as healthy as you can given the conditions I have to work in. No one else can be with Sam on this leap. He needs me more than you will be privileged to know. So, do you understand now?"

His speech didn't faze Paul Wakefield in the least. "I always did understand. Just as long as you do too." He ran out of bandages. "I'll be right back."

He walked past Al toward the door which Beth had entered unnoticed. She had several changes of clothes in her hands. "I didn't know which you wanted or could wear." Laying the pile on the hospital bed where Al was seated she tried to ignore what she had heard. "Do you think any of these will fit over your arm?"

Looking at the options he shook his head. "If this was an ordinary cast, any of them would do, but I don't think these will work without some major surgery."

"On the clothes or your arm?"

"Don't you start with me. I've got enough of a headache as it is." Reaching for some pants, he kept right on talking. "What happened to my motorcycle?"

"I don't really care." He gave her the look, "I guess it's still on the cliff where they found you."

"Have it brought back here. I need to see if it can be repaired." Try as he might, he couldn't dress with his arm strapped to his body.

Beth didn't want him to be doing what he was doing. She wanted him to safe in the infirmary, his arm in traction, his injured head staying still, but it was not to be. She decided to lighten her own mood by letting a smile creep across her face. "Can I help with your pants, sailor?"

Al shot a mischievous look at her, "I'm trying to put them on, babe, not take them off."

Beth saw him grimace. His getting dressed was such a mistake, but she gave in yet again. "Okay, let me dress you." She brought his favorite black tweed slacks. They matched the three shirts stacked next to him. Paul came back with his supplies. He put the bandage and a neck brace on the bed next to Al.

Al looked at the brace and asked, "What's the collar for?"

"If you're going to roam around the project, you need to wear it. With a head injury, the less you bounce your brain around, the less headache you'll have." He unrolled a bandage. "I'm going to pull your arm up a little here. It's going to hurt." A short grunt confirmed Paul's caveat. "Told you." The wrap was applied and then another and then another. "Beth, I need your help. Stand behind him, okay?"

She moved to the other side of the bed and took the end of the elastic that Paul handed her. Beth thought she had become used to the scars across his back. It was just part of him, but at that moment, it was like seeing them for the first time again. There were too many to count, but then there was that one, the one made by a hot iron brand. Her hand moved toward the mark and she touched the raised ridge with her finger. She thought she was talking to herself when she asked, "God, why did You let them do this to him?"

This time, there was no playfulness in his voice. "Drop it, Beth. Just give Paul the end of that so I can get the hell out of here." The rest of the taping went on without any talking. Paul reached for the collar. With his good hand, Al pushed it away. "I go in the Imaging Chamber wearing that, Sam will have a fit. It's going to be bad enough I got this arm to contend with."

Mustering all the sarcasm he could, Paul snarled, "Aren't motorcycles fun?"

"Get out so I can finish getting dressed." Paul left the Admiral and Beth. She saw him concentrating on controlling the pain.

There was still something she needed to say. "Al, I have a favor to ask of you." His face twisted in anticipation of her next words. "Don't look at me like that. Just listen to what I have to say." He resigned himself to one final bawling out and Beth took a big breath to gather her own courage. "Usually, when you're not in the Imaging Chamber, you're at your desk working on reports, or answering memos from the fed heads, or figuring out another way to get funding for the project. You've got something more important to worry about now, you. When you're not with Sam, you must rest and take care of yourself. It's important," she lowered her eyes.

There had been periods in his life, years actually, when he didn't feel loved or cared for, but right now, his wife made him forget those times. With his good hand, he cradled her chin, tilted her head up and gently kissed her forehead. "Okay. Just for you."

Nearly an hour had past. Renee was still angry with Sam and hadn't yet come upstairs. Jeff wasn't home and Al was making himself scarce. There was not a lot to do. In fact, there was nothing he wanted to do except contemplate the enormity of the problem he was dealing with. Four people were going to die if he failed, but he honestly had little desire to help Al's mother. In fact, she made his stomach churn. With nothing else to do, he turned on the television and found the local PBS station broadcasting an old Julia Child show. Since he was supposed to know how to do that kind of stuff, he settled in to watch and hopefully learn something useful.

While he was sitting there, Dan's daughter Michelle entered the room. "Hi, Daddy." A light peck on the cheek was a kindness that Sam really needed.

He asked her, "Is Jeff still sleeping?"

"Yep. I'm going to the library. I have to do some research for a project."

The word "project" made him suddenly feel lonely for the immense steel and concrete bunker he called home. "What kind of project?"

She shook her head in disgust. "I have to write about Italy's role in the Second World War. Pretty boring, huh?"

"Actually, it should be pretty interesting. You could ask your mother. She . . ." He chose his words carefully, "knew a lot of Italian immigrants."

Michelle looked at her "father' as if he were a lunatic. "Right, Dad. I'll see you later." Another peck on the cheek and he was alone. Thoughts of his last conversation with Renee flooded his mind. It was Dan's idea to make up lies about seven year old Al, horrible lies. Why would he do that? Why would Renee agree to it? Why didn't they just not acknowledge the existence of the children instead of lying about them? When Al got back, he was going to tell him to get some answers from Dan.

Wanting more information and not getting any by sitting there, Sam turned off the television and decided to confront Renee again. He softly made his way to the room in the basement where he saw a light glowing. Walking into the workroom, Sam surprised his wife. She responded by snapping, "Leave me alone."

"I think we should talk again, Renee."

The cigar box was quietly closed and discreetly put on the shelf. "I don't want to talk, Dan." She picked up a load of dirty clothes and started sorting. "We're going through the motions here."

Sam wasn't completely sure of what he was hearing. "The motions?"

"We've never really had anything going for us. You got what you wanted." She let him know her feelings, "It hasn't exactly been a picnic for me though, has it? I thought Vince was a pain in the ass. Being with you was going to make my world perfect. I was supposed to come first."

Once again, the focus was on Renee, not her son. Sam was beginning to lose his temper. "We have a problem here with Jeff. How are we going to solve it?"

She looked like a pit bull about to attack. "You've always come up with good stories in the past. Why not just make something up and we can all lie again for the rest of our lives." With still intensifying anger, she blew past Sam, "I'm going to Randhurst. I want new shoes."

Renee blasted her way out of the room. Left alone again, Sam wondered again what he should do. Without anything looking particularly pressing, he started to explore the basement a little. Maybe he'd find something that could help him on this leap.

Sam hated the voyeuristic nature of his job as leaper, but sometimes he had to invade privacy. This leap was atypical though. By finding out about Dan and Renee, he was also going to learn about Al and he felt sure the Admiral was not comfortable with that.

Tucking away his misgivings, Sam pulled a box labeled "pictures" down from the shelves. A small basement window provided enough light to see the history of this family. The photos were meticulously labeled with names and dates, the handwriting very feminine. He found a picture of little Leo sitting on Dan's lap. There was another of Arnie and Leo seeing Santa Claus. Little Bill and Jill were nestled in their mother's arms in another. One after another, the photos showed a happy family, little clones of Dan Harrington except for the one boy. Jeff didn't look like the others and his face rarely had a bright, cheerful smile. The moodiness, the determination, the separateness he had seen in Al's face so often was duplicated here. He put the junior high school graduation picture of Jeff away. Behind him he heard the Imaging Chamber door and he heaved a grateful sigh.

Al positioned himself so that his arm was hidden from Sam's view. "Find anything interesting?"

"Family photos." Turning on his friend, he grumbled, "I'm glad you finally saw fit to come back. Where the hell were you?"

Al ignored the last question. "I'd have been here sooner if I could." He faced Sam, whose jaw dropped to the floor. "I had a little spill on my motorcycle. Smashed it up pretty good, so I hear."

"Little spill? Did you break your arm?"

"I broke my elbow, my arm, shoulder and scapula, which I understand is very hard to do. Paul Wakefield's got me wired up here. It'll be okay. You got family pictures there?" Al moved closer to Sam.

The hints weren't subtle. Sam knew Al was telling him discussion about the arm was not going to happen. He fingered the photos. "Yeah. Thought I'd see what I could find on my own. All I found are these."

Al stared into the box and tried to see the faces there. There was Leo, Arnie, the twins, but few pictures of Jeff were evident. There was a look of disappointment on his face. Finally he mumbled, "This is stupid, Sam, but would you do me a favor?" Thinking better of his request, Al gently, very gently shook his head. "No, forget it."

"Al, what do you want?"

It was a desire to know something about his own life. "I'd kind of like to see a picture of Jeff when he was about seven. You think there's one in there somewhere?"

"They got all kinds of photos" He smiled at Al's desire to make the comparison. "You want to see how much you two looked alike as kids?" He started thumbing through the stacks of pictures.

Al confessed, "Not really. I don't have any pictures of me when I was little. I'm just curious to see what I looked like."

Sam remembered his own well-chronicled childhood and asked, "No pictures? At all?"

"Who was going to take them?" Sadly he added, "Or keep them?"

The melancholy soul of Admiral Calavicci was almost empty now and he was searching for something to fill him up again. A picture, a link to a past where his sister was alive and well, this would maybe recreate the sense in him that at some point his childhood he was part of a family. Sam found a photo of Jeff wearing a Superman suit, hands on his hips, staring into the lens with a determined look, the look of a hero. It was almost sweet to see such a typical childhood pose. He held the picture up for Al to see. "I think this is it, Al." With a gentle chuckle, he said, "Looks like one of your suits."

Al didn't respond to the comment. He lost himself in the face of the young boy. A million memories flashed through his mind, most of them too painful to stay with. In a few seconds, he was done looking. "That was a bad idea. Put it away. Cute kid, though, wasn't he?"

Sam smiled, "Yeah, he was. Still is a good looking boy." Al's eyes lingered over the pictures. Sam packed away the box quickly to try and bring the Admiral back to the present reality. "So, do you have any more information on Jeff?"

"Not much really. I just figured I'd better let you know what was going on with me here."

"You ready to tell me more about your arm?"

"What's to tell? I busted up my arm real good. Wakefield did the preliminary surgery early this morning. When things quiet down, he'll do the rest."

"Preliminary surgery? How bad did you break it?"

"I guess my scapula and collar bone each fractured. The humerus has three fractures. The radius and ulna each have two."

Sam winced at the realization of the seriousness of Al's injuries. "You have nine breaks in five bones? You shouldn't be here. I take it you wore a helmet."

"Yeah, so, for a change, you're not the reason I have a headache." Al wanted to stop talking about himself. "You got anything for me?"

While it didn't seem directly a part of the leap, Sam had a gnawing feeling. "Al, Renee told me that Dan made her tell those stories about you and Trudy, that they weren't her idea."

Al wasn't buying it. "And you believe that?"

He wanted to tell Al to rein in his attitude, but he couldn't deny his friend's feelings. "I don't know, but there's a lot going on here and the more I know about the family, the better I can help with Jeff's problems."

Any other time, the comment wouldn't have been noticed, but here and now, when Al felt he was the catalyst for Jeff, Sam just told him that he was simply a conduit for information. "Okay, Sam. I'll get you the information you need." He didn't want to go back yet. To help waste time, he walked around. Eye-balling the heater he grumbled, "Geez, these things were energy wasters."

Sam could see Al was wasting his own energy, but maybe he, needed to. "Yeah, I guess so."

Trying to read the label, Al leaned over and the movement sent a wave of incredible pain through his head. He recoiled against it and tried to cover up a small groan. It didn't work. The good doctor made a move to help, but a holographic hand reached through Al rather than to him. Al responded with, "I'm fine. I just moved too quick." A hollow smile flashed at Sam, but it was unconvincing. "Ziggy said Jeff likes a lot of the same stuff I did when I was his age."

"Other than girls and cars, what would that stuff be?"

This time the smile was real and Calavicci was back if momentarily. "Isn't that enough? Hell, remind him there aren't a lot of girls at boot camp. Maybe that'll keep him in school."

"I somehow don't think that's enough. What else does he like?"

"You know, theater, electronics, books, designing engines, figuring out how to go faster than the other guy."

"That's why you got into the space program, isn't it? Flying at mach three wasn't fast enough."

"Never thought of it in those terms, but I guess so. I like moving fast."

"Forget Ziggy, Al. What's going on in Jeff s mind? You know him better than anyone."

Al thought back to his own teen years. "When I was a senior in high school, I was 16. It was a rough year because the orphanage tossed me out. Let's see, I stayed with Sol DeVito, a schizo who lived in my neighborhood. I took care of the place in exchange for room. I needed an address in order to stay in school."

Sam didn't think he'd be hearing stories of Al's past, but he wanted to know more. "You took care of him for room and board?"

"Wrong on two counts. I took care of the room, not him. I cleaned up and stuff which when you're living with a major schizo is not easy. The second thing is he gave me room, no board. I didn't eat too often that year." The Admiral saw the sadness in the time traveler's face, "Sam, no one cared if I lived or died, no one except Trudy. I don't know how I got into Annapolis when I graduated, but it was great. I had books, clothes, and food three times a day. Before Annapolis, I don't ever remember having three full meals in one day."

In the past Al alluded to hard times, but Sam never envisioned his friend went to bed hungry throughout his young life. The abundance of food, love and support on the Beckett farm was almost an embarrassment to him now. "Al, I didn't realize," He couldn't finish.

"Realize what? That I'd been telling you the truth all these years? When people don't care, you don't eat. The Navy pulled me out of hell. You know, Jeff doesn't think anyone except his sister cares if he lives or dies. I guess we really are two of a kind. Annapolis saved my life. Maybe he should go into the Army. It could be the best thing for him."

"What are you talking about?"

His head and arm throbbed and made his patience grow short. "I know you don't hold the military in too high regard, but it provides a home, structure, and consistency. There's no question about your next meal. You get clean clothes to wear. They send you to school, if you want. Most importantly, you're part of a team that depends on you and respects you. If Jeff is looking for respect, how can we tell him it's wrong?"

"You're talking about changing his self-esteem. That's a lot to do in a few days. I don't know if I can. The easier way is to keep him out of the Army."

Al found a soapbox and he seemed to gain strength from his anger. "Easier for whom? And who said easier is better? You keep telling me he's just like me. If that's the case, I got to tell you, the Navy was the best thing that happened to me. I met Beth in the Navy. If I've made anything out of my life, it's because the military was there for me when no one and nothing else was. Jeff is in the same place just for different reasons and I don't know if they're all that different." His good hand tried to push the pain back into his head.

Sam was getting nervous for his injured buddy. "Calm down. I'll do what's right for Jeff, not easy for me. I think maybe you should go back and rest. Have Beeks talk to Dan. This will all work out right."

His stomach was churning with the agitation he created for himself. "Sorry, Sam. It's just that I've met the kid." The statement surprised him. "I know him, Sam. The name is coming back to me. Somehow I met him, but where?"

"Don't worry about it. Get back to the Infirmary and rest. I don't think it's important to what's happening now."

The growing ache in his head was getting hard to hide. "Yeah. I'll come back after Beeks talks to the pig in the Waiting Room." The door opened and Al disappeared into the future.

Dr. Beeks approached Dan Harrington. This was a conversation she knew needed to happen, but she dreaded. Dan was slowly waking from his drug-induced sleep. Verbena waited for a few minutes. When his eyes opened and focused on her, she smiled. "Hello, Dan. Feeling rested?"

His first reaction was a typical. He thought he would awaken from his sleep and the nightmare would be over, but the black woman was back. "I thought I'd be home in bed."

"I know. Sorry, but you'll be home soon." She pulled a chair close to Dan. "I'd like to talk a little. Is that okay?"

"Like I have a choice." He was giving in to his circumstance.

"Would you tell me about your wife?"

Of all the questions he thought would be asked, that was the last. "Renee? What about her?"

"Our research tells us she was married before." She left it at that hoping Dan would fill in the details. Her silence was telling Dan he was expected to go on.

"That marriage was a fiasco, She was too young and the man she married was out of town most of the time. She deserved better."

Using her best psychobabble, she said, "From what you say, it sounds like she did. Want to tell me more?"

"About Renee's first marriage? Why don't you tell me what you know already?"

The statement was tinged with antagonism. Verbena felt Dan's discomfort, but she decided to honor his request. "We know that you and Renee changed your names and when Renee left her husband, she also left her two children." The amiable countenance Dan wore changed rapidly to a defensive and deceitful face. "We also know you and Renee told your biological children that her son murdered her daughter and then he committed suicide by hanging himself. Is this true?"

Dan tensed up and answered through clenched teeth. "Yeah. The kid was psychotic. He tried to kill his sister a couple of times. It was terrible."

Verbena spoke quietly but with conviction. "You misunderstood my question. I was asking if it was true you told your children those lies." Stating the truth in easy language, Verbena continued. "Renee's children were not dead when she left and her son was not a murderer. Can you tell me why you decided to fabricate that story?" Her voice punctuated the word "fabricate."

There was an angry silence and the clenched jaw was joined by clenched fists. "Why are you saying this? We didn't lie."

"Dan, we know the truth. In fact," she debated her next statement, but she went for it "I know Al Calavicci."

Several times visitors had tried to run out of the Waiting Room, but it was a futile exercise. This time was no different. Dan pushed Verbena away from him and made a dash. The guards were alerted to the trouble and entered with weapons drawn. Dan's anger gave way to terror. He looked to Verbena. "What do you want from me? Who are you?"

Standing outside arm's reach, Verbena tried to calm him down. "My name is Verbena. Remember? I told you my name earlier."

"That's not what I mean. What is this all about?"

Complete truth was out of the question, but Verbena was skilled at sidestepping issues. "This is about helping Jeff, but we have to know what's going on in order to help."

Looking at the armed men in front of him Dan asked, "Would they really shoot me?"

"Without a second thought." She decided not to tell him the bullets were tranquilizer darts.

A heavy sighed shuddered out. "Okay, okay. I'll talk to you, but they have to leave."

With a gentle wave of her hand, the two Marine guards left and secured the door behind them. She ushered Dan back to the table. "Why did you and Renee leave New York?"

He spoke too matter-of-factly. "Renee's husband was out of town again. He didn't care about her, so we left. That simple."

"What about the children? Why did you leave Al and Trudy alone?"

He looked at her as if she asked the most stupid question ever. "They weren't mine. I didn't want to pay for someone else's mistakes. What man would?"

The psychologist's jaw dropped. "You mean, because you weren't the biological father, you abandoned two young children?"

"I figured the punk would take care of the retard."

Professional detachment was disappearing far too quickly. "The punk and the retard? Why did you make up a story about Al killing Trudy? He loved her more than anyone in the world."

"They were dead to us, so they might as well be dead to the world." With a villain's cheerfulness, he said, "See, people don't ask about Renee's first kids because it's too hard for them to deal with. It's the family secret. No one brings up those two."

"Renee went along with this?"

"If she wanted to marry me, she had to."

"You demanded she lie about her children?" The visitor nodded. Verbena was astounded, "So, you're telling me in order for you to allow Renee to desert her husband and children, she had to abandon them and tell lies that Al murdered his sister."

"You said the punk is alive. Did the retard live, too?"

Verbena's outrage was barely under control. "Trudy had Down syndrome. Don't call her a retard. I find that offensive."

Dan had regained his confidence and his swaggering male ego was starting to push Verbena's buttons. "Listen, my kids are all normal. I didn't want freaks contaminating my family."

Regaining some composure, Verbena asked, "Why didn't you just say they stayed with their father? that he took them? That was closer to the truth."

Seeing that he now controlled the conversation, Dan smugly answered, "I wanted to make sure Renee never tried to contact them. If I made her tell people Al murdered his sister, then I knew she'd never try to get them back. Too many people would ask questions and she doesn't have the guts to come clean."

Verbena was further appalled. "You used her children to control her."

With a flash of evil in his eye, Dan answered coldly, "I have every right to control my wife any way I want."

It was all beyond her understanding. "You know, maybe Al and Trudy were lucky. I think living with you would have been worse for them than the hell they ended up living."

"They were useless, ugly freaks that deserved to die."

"They were children, for God's sake."

"Not my children. I didn't want trash in my house."

It took a lot of concentration and deep breathing for Verbena to say nothing more and exit. Gooshie was working on a nearby panel. The psychologist couldn't contain her anger anymore. "Do you believe that man? He actually said Al and his sister were trash and useless, ugly freaks that deserved to die." Finally Verbena caught Gooshie's eye. There was a worried look on the programmer's face. Verbena glanced in the direction Gooshie's eyes were focusing. The Admiral was standing by the monitoring console. Gooshie turned back to the dismantled panel, pretending not to notice the tension in the air. Al stared into Verbena's eyes and without a word, walked to the elevator, disappearing behind the closed doors. Verbena regretted everything about the last five minutes. "Oh, God, I'm so stupid." She spoke to the walls, "Ziggy, return the elevator to this level. I need to talk to the Admiral."

"He won't appreciate that."

"When I want your advice, I'll ask for it. Get him back down here. That's a direct order." She waited at the sliding door. When it opened, Ziggy was right. Al was not happily surprised. "Before you say anything, I told Ziggy to bring you back here." She got on the elevator with him and pressed the button. "I think you need to be in the infirmary. Paul can put you back in traction." He didn't say a word. The elevator stopped and they both got out, walking toward the Project hospital rooms. Inside, Al started taking off his shirt without a lot of success. "Can I help?" Still no sound from the Admiral. A shift in his posture indicated that he'd accept the assistance. The first noise she heard him make was a painful groan when the sleeve caught on the wires in his arm. "I'm sorry." The quiet was making her nervous. The Admiral had a history of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and this leap was heavily involved in two situations that could cause the syndrome to reappear. He was on the brink of losing the battle for his mental health. "You didn't need to hear what Dan said to me. You want to talk about it?"

His voice was dark, deep, quiet and disturbingly lost. "Get Paul to hook me back up and get me something for this headache."

"Please, let's talk about what you heard." There were no more words spoken, not even by Verbena. She left his side to find the physician.


	4. Part IV

Above his head, Sam could hear the footfalls of a teenaged boy. Jeff was awake and wandering around. Stuffing the photos and reminiscences back into the box, he threw it carelessly on the shelf, but Sam didn't pay attention and the box fell with a crash, bringing down two more boxes with it. The bottom one splattered open all over the floor.

"Damn. Just what I need."

Jeff heard the noises and called out, "Who's down there?"

"It's your father making a mess."

His feet thudded against the steps and Jeff appeared at Sam's side. He watched his father gather up the scattered stuff. "Nice move, Dad. You need help?"

"Don't think so." He looked up at the boy who was wearing black pajama bottoms and no top. He was a well-built young man, slender, strong and well tanned. Sam heard Al's admonitions in his head and had to say, "You need to wear sunscreen when you go outside. Be careful and don't get burned."

"I'm the one who told you about the ozone, remember?"

This was almost too freaky. This boy wasn't just a half brother to Al; he was a junior version of the man. "Right." Grabbing the last of the fallen photos, Sam stood up, "Why don't you get dressed and we'll talk some more.

Jeff took a photo from Sam's hand. He stared at it for a long time. "I don't even remember when this was taken. I sure don't remember those clothes." He handed the picture back to Sam. "I've got a 3:30 appointment at the recruitment office. You want to come?"

He had less time than he thought. Jeff was going to enlist in a few hours. There was no other answer to give. "Of course, I'll go with you."

Jeff looked back at the picture Sam held. "Funny how you forget stuff. I don't remember that." He walked out and Sam glanced one last time at the pictures in his hand. That was when he realized it wasn't Jeff. The picture had spilled from the box he dropped on the floor. He knelt down to get a closer look. Sam could hardly believe what was there.

The Infirmary lights were dim. Al slept with his arm reattached to the traction harness. Though the room was cool, clean and pleasant, in his dreaming mind, he somewhere far different.

His arms were tied behind him, elbows meeting. The ropes tethered him to a pole. He'd been standing for hours, maybe a day or more. He couldn't remember. Each time he fell to his knees, the rope kept him from reaching the relief of the ground. The drop just made the pain in his arms go from intolerable to excruciating. The Vietnamese sun burned his bare skin and the unending blows of a whip across his face, chest, back and legs added insult and injury.

The MIA across from him was detained in the same way, but this young man, this boy couldn't handle the agony. His cries added to Al's frustration, anger and hopelessness. There was nothing he could do. The boy screamed again and a whip slashed the young face. Another cry and a bamboo pole cracked against his back. Al knew the guards like to hear pleas for mercy just as much as they liked rebellion. Both responses gave them cause to continue their assault. Al knew that and tried to tell the boy in the only way he could. "You're strong. You can take anything they give you! Hang on, kid. I'm here!"

The barbed bamboo pole tore away more flesh from the youngster. The boy couldn't stay his ground. The pain was too great and his injuries too severe. "No, please don't hurt me again! Please!" Tears followed and they turned into whimpers and finally into a death rattle as the boy died while Al watched. He was the third one to die in front of him that day.

As usual, Al defied the VC guards. "His name! Who knows his name?" A whip opened another bleeding wound on his scarred back. "Someone tell me his name!" The barbed pole fractured a leg. "Damn it! He's dead! I got to know his name!" The ropes were pulled tighter and tighter. From a hootch behind him he heard a timid call, "Harrington. Jeff Harrington."

Al stared at the dead boy's face. It was like looking into a mirror that could project the past and the future at the same time. "Jeff Harrington. I won't forget. I promise, I won't forget!" As he kept up his defiance, a branding iron plunged into his back searing his skin with crackling sounds. He screamed. "Jeff Harrington! I won't. . ." The pain intensified. "God! No, stop!"

He started to thrash about, trying to free himself. The pain in his arms was so bad he didn't want to continue, but something compelled him to try and get free. "I won't forget. I won't." His pledge grew in volume and the stabbing hurt in his body produced terrifying shouts. "I won't forget!" The infirmary filled with his shrieks.

Beth put her hands on Al's face and spoke to him directly and strongly, "Al, it's only a dream." He wasn't waking. She saw him injuring his shattered arm, "Wake up, baby. You're safe. Wake up now. You're going to hurt yourself." She kept talking, "Come on home, Al. Come on home, come on home, come on home," and he finally began to open his weary, bloodshot eyes. "Al, honey, it was a dream. You're safe, baby. Safe here with me. It's okay."

Breathing was still hard and coming back to the relative safety of the present was a struggle. With all the control he could gather, Al said, "I knew him, Beth. I was the last person to talk to him, to see him alive." Vietnam's hell was bringing intense grief yet again. "We were in a camp together. I was with him when he died. They were beating me too. Maybe if I'd known he was my brother maybe I would have tried harder to help him." His breathing still didn't calm down.

Beth caressed his face, kissed his brow. She finally began to understand, "You're talking about Jeff, aren't you?" Al nodded. "That's what your dream was about?"

His gaze turned far away. His breaths were short and gasping. "He couldn't take the pain. Some guys couldn't and they died."

Brushing wet curls off his forehead, she told him, "Al, it was a dream. You were probably remembering something that happened and put Jeff's face on the soldier that died."

"No." He was adamant and would not be dissuaded. "I've had enough nightmares about the camps to know the difference. It was Jeff. I remember, Beth. I remember thinking I was watching myself die. He looked so much like me. Right after he died I asked someone to tell me his name. It was Jeff Harrington. I promised I wouldn't forget his name. I promised him." Al's voice trailed off, "right after he died." His dissolved into shame, something Beth had rarely seen. "He was my brother and I didn't know."

"Baby, it's all over. You're safe now."

He pulled in a huge breath. Then another. He was finding resolve again like he found it the day Jeff died. The humiliation in his eyes was slowly replaced by determination not to let his mother win. His breathing eased and he asked, "How big can hate get?"

Beth took him in her arms as best she could, "Baby, I don't know what you mean. Just calm down. You're going to hurt yourself even more."

There wasn't time to listen. "Until a few minutes ago, I didn't think I could hate my mother any more than I already did. Turns out I was wrong." He took in more deep breaths and regained command. The Admiral was back. "Alright. I need to get to Sam. He needs to know the kind of slime Dan is and how Jeff dies." Reaching for the traction wires, he made an attempt at loosening the rigging. The unending pounding in his head made it impossible, but still he tried.

"No, Al, don't do that." Beth stopped him. "Don't do that."

"Beth, Sam isn't the person Jeff needs. I am."

Tears didn't come easy to Beth, but the pain in Al's heart tore her into pieces. "Don't let her hurt you anymore. She's not worth it."

He was exhausted, "You know, Beth, if I didn't still love her, it wouldn't matter to me. God damn it. Why do I still love her when all I want to do is hate?"

She dried her tears and held his uninjured hand, "I don't know. Maybe it's because she gave life to Trudy. Maybe it's because you have the courage to love her despite what she did."

He tried to smile. "There's a bullshit answer if I ever heard one." She leaned over him and they kissed like only lovers can. "God made up for everything when he allowed me into your life."

"Just be still. You have to rest."

"No, I have to get to Sam and Jeff. Help get me ready." She hesitated and Al knew why, "If I don't do this, then she'll win again. I can't let her take Jeff from me like she took Trudy."

She was his wife, the mother of his children, the nurse who tended his wounds for over 10 months after Vietnam, the one who stood by in fear when the Space Shuttle was in trouble on the far side of the moon, the proud wife of a Congressional Medal of Honor winner. There was nothing he didn't succeed at when he wanted to succeed. She wouldn't stand in his way even if she knew it might take him from her. "I'll get Paul. We'll get you ready."

The recruitment office trip was a routine pre-enlistment affair. Jeff wouldn't be turning 18 until mid-June and there was school to finish. Forms were filled out, but nothing was written in stone - yet. They were on their way home before the subject actually came up.

"I've been trying to figure out some way to keep you in school."

Jeff rolled his eyes in typical Calavicci fashion. "Dad, again?"

Sam tried to remember what Al said about being 18. "Maybe you could apply to one of the military colleges. You'd get an excellent education and still be eligible for Vietnam since you feel you have to go."

"You know, I thought about that, Dad, but I want to know what it means to be a grunt, a front line guy. I don't want to be safe in my ivory tower somewhere."

The sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening came from behind and Al appeared in the back seat. Sam turned just to be sure since the hologram wouldn't reflect in the rear view mirror. Acknowledging his friend he continued his conversation with Jeff. "Officers aren't always in ivory towers." Sam reflected on Al's whereabouts in 1971, "A lot of the men in POW camps are officers. I can't imagine any war experience being worse than being a POW."

Jeff piped in, "Unless it's being MIA." Sam's stomach tightened up. Jeff went on, "Those are the guys I really feel for, wondering if anyone knows if you're dead or alive. That has to be worse."

"I know this woman whose husband is listed MIA. She thinks he's dead. In fact, she was thinking about getting a divorce so she could remarry, but she changed her mind."

Jeff shook his head sadly in recognition of the agony. "Wow. That has to be tough for her and her husband. Can't blame her in a way, though. Everyone thinks MlAs are dead."

Sam was trying to find some kind of way to tell Jeff about Al without telling him the particulars. "I think it would be a great story. It would address the silent tragedies of this war."

Interest was sparked and Sam saw it in Jeff's eyes. "What do you mean by silent tragedies?"

"You think MIAs are forgotten now," he had to watch his phrasing carefully, "I bet in the future, no one will even bother much with them. It's like that for missing soldiers. No one speaks for the kind of terror they go through." Jeff was staring with intense interest. "Someday, the POWs will be remembered with some kind of monument, but I bet that MIAs won't be. No one talks for them. POWs suffered a lot. That has to be a terrible experience, but MIAs have their own story and that needs to be told as well."

Al whispered, "That's the book Jeff needs to write, Sam. There's going to be more war memoirs than anyone needs. He could write about the ones left behind."

Sam forwarded Al's comments and saw he was making an impact on the boy. He added, "If you go to Vietnam and get killed, MIAs have one less voice. Think about it."

The drive was quiet again. Jeff watched the houses fly by obviously not seeing the scenery. Sam struck a nerve in the young man, but he had to wonder if it was enough. With his face still pointed toward the window Jeff said, "I remember a picture, a photograph taken over a year ago. There were these three Americans tied up and being dragged along a riverbank. Their backs were to the camera, except for one of them. He was looking right into the lens." Sam felt his heartbeat get faster, after all he had seen Maggie Dawson's Pulitzer Prize winning picture of Lieutenant Calavicci long before the rest of the world did. "That picture made me want to go to Vietnam. I want to find him, you know, the one who looked at the camera."

From behind him, Sam heard a voice whisper, "Don't say anything about me. Ziggy says you're doing something right. The odds are better he doesn't go into the Army. Keep him talking."

Sam was grateful the Admiral was there. "I remember. It won a Pulitzer."

Jeff turned to Dan. "How well do you remember the photo? Do you remember his face?"

Sam glanced back at the hologram in the back seat. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Didn't you think he looked a lot like me? Dad, when I saw that picture, it felt like part of me was there. It was like looking in a mirror. I know he's older. It was probably the angle, the lighting, all sorts of reasons why he and I look alike, but I have to find him."

Al was grumbling, "What the hell for?"

Sam forwarded the question, "Why, Jeff?"

There was a wanting in the boy's face. It took almost half a minute for him to gather the courage to say, "Because he's my brother."

Almost another half minute went by with both men stunned by the statement. Al broke the silence. "Ask him what he means."

Sam obeyed and Jeff shook his head gently. "I'm not really sure. I don't mean like he's a real brother, but his face is mine and I can't get it out of my head." The Time Traveler, the Endless Survivor and the Hope of the Future all stared into their souls for what seemed like hours, but what was only a moment or two. Each saw the image of Maggie's picture but from vastly different perspectives. Sam saw the agonizing result of his need to save his brother's life. The terror Al witnessed on his own face served as a reminder of how fear is more crippling than pain. For Jeff, the picture was a link to a brother his spirit somehow knew existed. "Dad, I have to know if they killed him."

To return to the present of this time line, he had to shake the image of Al from his mind's eye. "How can going to Vietnam help you find out if he's dead?"

"I'm going to meet him there. I know it."

Sam tried to deny the intuition. "Come on, Jeff. You're a bright kid. What are the odds that you're going to meet that particular sailor?" Sam cringed at the gaffe. He identified Al as a Navy man, but Jeff didn't pick up on it for which Dr. Beckett was eternally grateful.

Jeff had no way to explain what he knew, but Al did. "The kid's right, Sam. We met in prison camp. I watched him die. Thing is, he didn't recognize me and I didn't know we were brothers."

Nothing more was said for the rest of the ride. The car pulled into the driveway and father and son exited. "Dad, I'll be back in time for dinner." He walked toward the garage.

"Where are you going?"

"Just for a ride on my bike. I promise. I'll be back." They watched the boy speed off.

Sam finally felt comfortable talking to his friend. "You have a lot to tell me. I'll meet you downstairs."

They met up in the workroom. Sam's first words were demanding. "What do you mean you watched him die?"

"He couldn't take the beatings, so he died."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you serious?"

"Would I joke about something like that?" Al's eyes glazed over. "Sam, he was no more than six feet away from me. He had no idea it would hurt. It scared him,"

Nothing was making any sense to Sam, least of all his friend. "Al, I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're talking about."

"I don't know how to explain it." He thought for a second or two. "Sam, did you ever burn yourself just a little, maybe a burn from a drop of hot solder You know its a nothing burn, but it hurts like hell. Like a paper cut, it hurts a hell of a lot more than you think it should. That's kind of what getting tortured is like. They do stuff you think shouldn't hurt that much. You think you should be able to take it and you can't. It's scary and it helps kill you. Then when the hard stuff really comes, you're just spent. There's nothing left in you to fight, so you die." Al's sadness and grief at the recollection was apparent. "I wish I'd known who he was. I might have been able to help." He heard the blood pulse through his head. Each pump brought on a wave of pain that he tried his best to hide.

"I guess he dies pretty ugly then."

"No one died pretty in Vietnam. No one survived pretty either."

The pained look on Al's face made Sam wonder what was hurting now, the memories or the badly broken arm. "Your arm okay?" Al's right hand wiped across his face stifling some mumbled response. "Al, you're not looking too good."

"Listen, I have info on Dan, too. Turns out he's no better than good old mom. I don't think he'd ever be nominated to father of the year." He related the story of Dan's insistence that young Al and Trudy be left behind. Sam was appalled. When Al used Dan's phrase "useless, ugly freaks," Sam felt terribly dirty. He wanted out of the skin he inhabited. It was disgusting him more and more with each passing minute.

"These people are sick, Al."

"Yeah and it's going to kill their kid."

The duality of Al's words weren't lost on Sam. "So what we have here is a man who impregnates a married woman, convinces her to abandon her two little children and then manufactures an incredible set of lies about them in order to protect their tryst."

"You got it." Al's sarcasm barely covered his misery and someone who didn't know him well wouldn't see the anguish, but Sam knew his friend better than anyone ever did.

Sam saw his reflection in the shiny surface of the washing machine. Dan's face looked up at him. Damning his Swiss cheese brain, he couldn't remember if Al saw Sam's face or Dan's. Until he could work that out, he chose not to make Al stare into the face of the man who orchestrated the abandonment of young Al and his sister. Not able to look at the reflection of this monster in human guise, Sam turned to the dark concrete block wall. "I don't like these people at all."

"Yeah, well, one of them is my loving mama. Just my luck." Ordinarily, Sam would kick Al's butt for the self-pity stuff, but he couldn't blame the man. On the other hand, Al knew that self- pity was only destructive and he shook himself free from as much of it as he could. His head hurt bad and he listened to the increasing sound of blood pulsing through the veins in his neck. Trying to get past the noise in his head he declared, "It would be interesting to hear herside of the story, wouldn't it?" Catching each other's eyes, both men grunted out a sneering chuckle.

Having heard Dan talking in the basement, Renee went down to find him. She entered unseen. "Who are you talking to?"

Both men were startled. "No one. Just thinking out loud."

Renee demanded, "Where were you?"

"Jeff and I went to the recruiting office. He pre-enlisted."

She looked at him with hate in her eyes. "You're some piece of work. You want him to die."

Sam was too angry at Renee for her past indiscretions to be lucid. "That's what youwant, isn't it? I mean he reminds you of Al and you hate him because of that."

"Go to hell."

His courage wasn't going to get any stronger. "Renee, do you ever think about Al and Trudy?"

She started to shake her head. "You promised. Arnie is my first child."

Quietly Al said, "I don't understand."

It was going to be a conversation that Dan and Renee would have to deal with long after Sam leaped out, but it was necessary conversation for his friend. "They both loved you."

"Trudy was incapable of love and Al was uncontrollable."

The hurt inside Al grew. "Trudy's best thing was loving people."

Sam wanted some kind of answer from Renee that bordered on the truth. "I don't remember him being disobedient. He was really good with Trudy, wasn't he?"

"Al didn't care about anything except his books and beating up kids in the neighborhood. The teachers never knew what to do with him. He drove them crazy and me, too." She was getting angrier with each moment. "Why are you doing this to me?"

He couldn't look at the Admiral. "I think it's time for you to come to grips with what you," Sam had to add, "what you and I told the kids. Maybe you should try to find Al."

Al grunted, "It's 1971, Sam."

Sam remembered a second too late that Al was incarcerated in Vietnam in 1971He heard Renee say, "I don't ever want to know what happened to him."

The recollection of Al's imprisonment made Renee's reaction even more appalling. "He's your son. Trudy was your daughter. I don't understand why you stopped loving them."

"I didn't have to stop." She lied to Dan, "I never started."

Al, visibly weakened by her words, stammered, "Sam, I'm out of here."

He didn't want the Admiral to leave until they had a chance to talk again. "Please, don't."

Renee had no knowledge of Al's presence and answered Sam, "'Please don't what?"

He hated getting caught talking to Al and this was one of the worst moments to have slipped. "Don't say you never loved him."

She had tears in her eyes. "I had to marry his father to make him legitimate. I didn't love Vince, why should I love his child?"

Al's outrage kicked in. "Next time someone calls me a son of a bitch, I'll know they're right." He moved toward the white chamber light.

Before the hologram had a chance to leave, Sam angrily spoke to Renee, "It's my turn to go for a walk." He stormed off hoping Al would follow. Sam was halfway down the block when he saw Al appear about 50 yards ahead. Sam slowed his walk a little in order to try and think of something to say. Al had proven his courage, his strength time after time. This leader of leaders was there in front of him looking like a battered child, very small and vulnerable. It was a strange picture. When Sam approached his friend, he saw a forced smile start to crawl over the weary face. "Sam, I'm really sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

"For telling you she's my mother. You're here to keep the kid from enlisting. God forbid he should end up like his half-brother."

A childish, petty side of Sam emerged and he sulked, "I don't want to help him."

Al sighed. "Jeff doesn't deserve to die because she never liked me."

"Come on, Al. It's not that simple. She doesn't deserve kids."

"Maybe so, but she has them." An uneven breath gave away the depth of his sadness. "He's my brother. Don't let him die, please."

Watching Al is such pain was more than he ever wanted to see. "We'll get him through this. You and me together."

Barely having heard, Al confided, "I know Trudy was mentally retarded, but Sam, if you only knew her. She was the most beautiful little girl. People think Down syndrome is ugly, but it's not. Down syndrome faces are beautiful and full of love. That's a unique aspect of it. So what if they can't do trigonometry. Their capacity for love is so much more than the rest of us nozzles. When it comes to love, we're the retarded ones." He shook his head remembering his mother's words. "'Incapable of love.' How could she be that wrong? Love was Trudy's greatest gift, unconditional love. Maybe that's why she's the only one who ever loved me."

"Not the only one." Al needed someone to be strong and Sam willingly and easily took on the task. "Go back and get some sleep. You look beat."

"Beaten is more like it. I swore that I'd never let her beat me down, but damn it, if she hasn't won after all." Breathing was getting hard and he started gasping in air.

"You need to rest."

The Admiral didn't hear a word. "I'm 64 years old and I'm a basket case here," he smirked, "because my mommy didn't like me. I need to grow up. She still has control of my life."

"Only if you let her."

"Don't give me that crap. Since I was seven, I've made up more scenarios than Ziggy could run in a thousand years and not one of them included the idea she never loved Trudy. I can understand not loving me. I probably was a bad kid. God knows, the potential was there but it doesn't matter." He pulled together a typical Calavicci smile and with fake determination he said, "Let's concentrate on Jeff."

If a light bulb could have appeared over Sam's head, it would have. "I know how, Al. I know how to convince Jeff to stay in school." A huge smile spread across his face. He looked back at his buddy. "I don't know why I didn't think of this before. I found something, but you need to see it first. You have to be okay with it."

A sudden gust of searing pain dropped the Admiral to his knees with a loud groan. Sam rushed to his side, but holograms have no substance. "Ziggy, get someone in here!"

The Imaging Chamber door opened and unseen to Sam, Verbena and Paul entered. It wasn't until they touched Al that he saw what was happening. Paul started basic triage. Verbena took the handlink, said something Sam couldn't hear and then held the handlink out hoping Sam would see it. Sam moved into position and read, "We'll send Gooshie in as soon as we can." Two orderlies lifted the semi-conscious Admiral onto a gurney and Al was wheeled out.

Sam had never felt so alone. Giving himself a moment or two to collect his thoughts, Sam went back to the empty basement room where he left Renee and took a special box from the shelves.

An hour later, Paul had Al in surgery. Too much running around and Al's concussion turned into a far more serious injury. Blood was pooling in his brain. Exactly how much damage was done and how permanent it would be was a crapshoot.

Beth waited outside trying to figure out what to do. She was deep in her thoughts when she saw the door to the waiting area opened slowly. A frightened and concerned face poked its way inside. "Is he okay?"

"Come here, Allie," The girl entered quietly. Her mother told her, "He was bleeding into his brain. They're doing surgery right now."

Like her father, she diverted her pain, avoiding it by thinking of other things. "I was talking to Uncle Gooshie. He isn't sure he can program Ziggy to allow Uncle Sam to see him."

"He's done it before."

Staring at the operating room door, she kept on talking. "But he had access to all the power we could harness. Dr. Wakefield is using up enough to make getting to Uncle Sam impossible."

"There's no way around it?"

Spinning to her mother, Allegra adamantly declared, "Dad is the power priority here, not Uncle Sam. As far as we know he's safe and sound, but Dad," her strength vanished, "might die."

"Allie, we both know you dad won't die."

"How can we know that?"

She thought she was stating the obvious. "Because he promised to get Uncle Sam home and Daddy never breaks a promise."

Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Allie shook her long hair. "Some promises can't be kept and that's one. Dad may think he's invincible, but after a motorcycle accident, any sane man would have stayed in bed." The child-like Allegra returned with a pout. "I'm scared. Mom. I don't want to lose him."

"You won't, baby. You'll see."

Sam returned yet again to the workroom in the basement. Quietly, he took the box with the information he needed. With it tucked under his arm, Sam walked upstairs to wait for Jeff. He held potential in that box, potential to destroy a family and to save four lives. There was no way this leap was going to be a nice neat little package. A lot of pain was about to explode and he wasn't able to ask Al what the long-term effects would be. For all he knew, he was never going to see Al again. Like his friend though, he now had to rely on his instincts.

Slowly he sorted the contents. Inside the box were the pictures the Admiral thought didn't exist - photos of Al and his beautiful little sister at the time when they appeared to be part of a happy family. Renee and Vince cradled their children and the love looked real. More investigation into the box revealed astonishing material. It was filled with pictures and stories about Al and Trudy. There was an article from an east coast newspaper chronicling the rise of a street kid to an Annapolis entrant. Trudy's obituary was there. Al's scholastic, baseball and fencing achievements were chronicled. Fencing? Sam had no recollection of Al being expert with a foil, but the three regional titles he won were all listed. There was a copy of the Annapolis graduation where Al earned Summa Cum Laude honors. A theatrical Playbill recorded his debut at 16 as George Gibbs in an off-Broadway revival of _Our Town. _Another clipping announced his upcoming marriage to Elizabeth Anne Waterston. There was even a list of MIAs with one name shakily underlined. On the bottom of the box was a magazine, the front cover of a Time Magazine from just about a year earlier. The banner read, "POW Death March."

The fog of unconsciousness was lifting. Beth leaned in so Al could see her. "Hi, there. You just came out of surgery." She touched his face. "Can you hear me?" There was a slight nod. "Good. I'm going to ask you a few questions. Ready?" Another nod. "You're going to have to talk to me."

A raspy voice said, "Okay."

She smiled. "First, tell me your name.

It took some effort but he answered, "Beth, you know my name better than I do." He didn't quite understand the burst of laughter he heard, but he figured he answered correctly. "What's so funny?"

"Al, do you remember what happened?"

It seemed like an easy question, but thoughts weren't connecting right. "I was with Sam. My mother was there." The memories weren't complete, but the pain they brought was. "And Vietnam. Something about my brother dying in Vietnam."

Beth interrupted, "Jeff didn't die, Al. He enlisted in the Navy, not the Army and by the time he finished his stateside training, the war was almost over. He didn't see much combat. Do you remember Jeff now?"

A picture flashed into his mind. "He wrote a book about MIAs."

"A Silent Tragedy. It was about what happened to you in Vietnam."

A sudden rush of memories flooded his mind. The entire leap came back to him. All the pain and all the fears, but somehow, things turned out right for Jeff. "Sam must have fixed things. How did he do it?"

"We don't know. Gooshie couldn't get to him before he leaped."

Something told him not to ask, but it was necessary. "What happened to my mother?"

Quietly Beth told him how she and Dan divorced after Jeff enlisted. A month later Dan was killed in a car accident and Renee disappeared. "We've been working Ziggy overtime to find her, but she really dropped out good. I guess you'll never know what happened to her."

The revised time line became more solid. "I remember now." They met after Al got home from prison camp in '75. At the time, Jeff didn't tell Al they were related. He wrote his book, A Silent Tragedy using the Admiral's story. They corresponded occasionally for over a decade. Then heartache hit Al even more. In his drawer of private papers he kept the last letter Jeff wrote, finally telling Al that they shared a mother. With that revelation, Jeff promised never to write again. Al recalled, "I tried to find him, but Star Bright was having problems and I couldn't get away. I'm not sure I wanted to find him. I thought he would tell me how great his mother was and I didn't want to hear it. A couple of months later I found his obituary in the newspaper archive. He died the week after he wrote me. I remember now." Lymphoma killed Jeff in 1988, ending any possibility for a family reunion.

The Admiral couldn't quite figure if Sam was successful in this leap or not. Renee and the kids didn't die and that was a good thing, but what kind of life did that condemn Jeff and his younger sister to? The parallel was not pleasant to contemplate. Renee abandoned Al and Trudy and now Al helped orchestrate Renee's abandonment of Jeff and Michelle. It wasn't something he meant or wanted to do. He certainly wasn't naive enough to believe that any mother is better than no mother, but Michelle was basically happy at home. Al helped take that from her. The whole thing was disturbing. "Beth, what happened to Michelle? Is she okay?"

The answer gave more than a bit of solace to the man. Michelle got her college degree, married and was worked at an agency training adults with mental retardation for community-based jobs. It seemed right that one of Renee's children would work to honor Trudy's memory even if she didn't know Trudy existed, but maybe she did know. It was too much to think about.

One more puzzle bothered him. "What did Sam say to him, Beth? How did he change Jeff's mind?" His healthy hand wiped his stinging eyes.

"We don't know. Until Sam leaps and Gooshie can get to him, we won't be able to find out what he remembers."

In typical Calavicci fashion, Al focused away from himself and onto Sam. He found some vestige of strength and tried to pull himself to a sitting position. Beth stopped him cold. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I got to see Sam."

"No, Babe. You're on shore leave for a long time. When it comes to your health, I pull rank on deciding if you're fit for duty. Right now, you're not. Give yourself a chance to heal. Okay?" She smoothed the clean sheet that covered him.

Ziggy interrupted them, "Excuse me Admiral and Mrs. Calavicci. Dr. Beckett has leaped out of Daniel Harrington and is in stasis."

His bandaged head hurt, his traction-splinted arm ached, Sam was in stasis and the brother he just met was already dead. The Admiral had to give in to his obvious fragility, but once again wondered aloud, "What the hell did Sam tell Jeff?"

"I wouldn't worry about it, Babe." She touched his face. "Sam probably doesn't even remember."

THE END


End file.
